


Pride: Genesis

by NexusProjectVF



Series: Pride [1]
Category: Voltron Comics (Devil's Due), Voltron Force (2011), Voltron: Defender of the Universe (1984), Voltron: Legendary Defender, Voltron: Lion Voltron, Voltron: Year One
Genre: Galra and Drules and Pirates (Oh My), Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Pansexual Lance (Voltron), Prequel, Reboot, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-09-25 02:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 132,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17112464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NexusProjectVF/pseuds/NexusProjectVF
Summary: After a series of raids by mysterious pirates called the Galra, the Alliance dispatches a team to investigate their motives. They'll find more questions than answers...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a group project with elements of nearly every Voltron continuity, though it's rooted primarily in the comics (DDP/Year One) and Voltron Force. We are writing the reboot we wanted, living our best lives, all that jazz. We hope you enjoy it!

_Formation Order: Explorer Team designation 686._

_All personnel listed below are hereby ordered to report to Omicron Terminal briefing room 348 at 0900 hours, Tuesday, June 12. Relay these orders and conduct necessary custody transfers._

_Supervising officer: Colonel James Hawkins, Explorer Team Command._

"They sent me an order to relay formation orders to myself?" Hawkins muttered as he read the message. It was far from the silliest thing the brass had ever done—it probably didn't even merit that title for the week—but it was silly nonetheless. "Whatever makes them happy."

It was something of an improvement, giving the side-eye to the brass rather than receiving it. The Explorer Teams _excelled_ at that. It was a simple fact that sometimes, the very best of the best at their jobs had some difficulty playing nice with others. Sometimes a disciplinary record didn't quite outweigh a service record.

Sometimes someone with connections just didn't _like_ you.

For all those incidents, the Alliance had created the Explorer Teams: irregular units composed of those who couldn't fit within the standard structure, but couldn't just be kicked out either. The teams were elite and served vital roles, able to go where line units couldn't possibly function. But they were still seen by the rest of the military as a bunch of rejects, and respected accordingly.

Hawkins himself had earned his posting through politics. It turned out General Wegener didn't care to have his conciliatory approach toward the Drules publicly questioned. Oops.

It had been awhile since they'd commissioned a new team, so at least it would make for some excitement… sending an order to an aide and another to the team's commanding officer, Hawkins sat back and waited.

*****

_Demolitions technician: Senior Specialist Tsuyoshi "Hunk" Garrett, Alliance Engineering Corps Jovian Division._

Garrett was on KP. You couldn't say he was on KP as a punishment, because he'd been cleared for the incident that had gotten him there. It was 'temporary assigned duty', or as the soldiers preferred to call it, 'drop duty': where the brass dropped you until they figured out what to do with you.

There were also some more vulgar terms, but those weren't the point.

Sergeant Donovan Brown, Security Division, headed into the mess hall with some trepidation. It wasn't at all unusual to have to pull people off their temp assignments personally. Alliance policy required face to face transfer of custody… there had been incidents. It was all part of the Explorer Team package. What was more unusual was not having to get anyone out of the actual brig.

Still, a little healthy nervousness when dealing with _those people_ was always warranted.

The scene in the kitchen was organized chaos. All activity seemed to be centering around an enormous man who wasn't in proper uniform; instead he wore an apron with gold and red flames stitched up the sides and a matching chef's hat. He was rushing around seeming to be everywhere at once, critiquing the rest of the mess team's work.

"Lookin' good! Hey, watch the noodles, that ain't steam comin' out of the pot. Dude! You can't put that much salt on that, you'll kill someone!"

_Who'd have thought? The people in the mess actually care about the food. Shame you can't tell that by eating it._

Well, at least it was pretty clear who was running things. Brown approached and cleared his throat. "Excuse me…"

The big man startled and turned, hazel eyes fixing on him with a sharp focus his demeanor didn't seem to mesh with. "Hey! You need lunch?"

Brown cracked a slight smile to cover the fact that he'd jumped back about three feet. This guy could probably crush his spine without breaking a sweat. "Not exactly. I'm looking for a Tsuyoshi Garrett?"

"That's handy. Right here!" He flipped a salute and gave a huge smile. "Whatcha need?"

… _What now?_

He stared blankly at the big man, finally catching sight of the rank badge pinned to his apron. Sure enough, it indicated a Senior Specialist rather than anyone who should actually be in charge of the kitchen… he frowned and shook his head slightly. "I'm ah, here to… rescue… you from drop duty?"

"Ohhhh." Garrett turned and yelled over his shoulder. "Yo! Cap'n Crunch! The brass is here for me!"

Brown was absolutely certain the mess supervisor was neither a Captain nor named Crunch, but at this point just running with it seemed like the best option.

Turned out it was a warrant officer named Talbot, who came up from the back of the kitchen and shrugged at Brown's questioning look. "The man's good at the job," he said as if that explained everything, then lowered his voice. "Get him out of my kitchen, _please_."

Poor guy. "That's what I'm here for. Just sign off." He held out his datapad, amused and not a bit surprised when Talbot didn't even read the transfer form. "Garrett, you've got an Explorer Team waiting for you."

"Now? Like, right now? Shouldn't I go get in a real uniform or somethin' first?"

_This man's job is to work with explosives._ Brown shook his head for a moment, trying to comprehend how that could possibly be wise. "…Just come with me and I'll give you your orders. You've got some time."

"With ya, Sarge." Garrett paused and looked around the kitchen, grimacing. "Hopefully this place won't go to pieces without me. Sure you don't want lunch?"

…What the hell? He hadn't eaten before coming on duty. "Why not?"

*****

_Medic: Specialist Jace Inácio Cardoso Gregory, 48th Centauri Regulars._

Gregory wasn't on drop duty. Most of the time that complicated things, but in this case it was the opposite. Brown knew exactly where he was, because he'd taken his forced leave and gone to Brazil, and if there was anything the Garrison Island airport did well it was keep thorough passenger lists.

Flight 2850 from Rio de Janeiro was right on time, and he watched the passengers disembarking until only one was left; a slim man with dark hair, bronze skin, and an air of irritation that not even eight hours on civilian air transit could fully explain. He was wearing a military-issue medic jacket and obviously looking for someone, so… "Jace Gregory?"

The man turned and studied him for a moment, dark eyes narrowing. "You Sergeant Brown?"

Nod. "How was Rio?"

"A lot like Novo Rio, but less sun and more water." He rolled his eyes. "Don't know what I expected, other than the dude who's here to bury me not asking about my vacation."

That wasn't subtle. "Hey, I'm just the messenger."

"Yeah, I know. Don't shoot the poor sap doing the dirty work." He slung his bag over his shoulder and scowled. "So what's it gonna be? Babysitting rock rats or tractor tykes on the Rim, right?"

Well he was pleasant, wasn't he? But maybe he had reason, if he was expecting to be kicked to the Rim. The real orders might cheer him up. "Nothing so dire as that. Here." Brown handed over the datapad and waited.

Gregory read impossibly quickly; in a matter of seconds he was looking up with an expression of disbelief. "You're kidding me with this, right? An Explorer Team? That's pretty goddamn dire!"

Oh. "Better or worse than the Rim?"

"That's a question? Patching up boring civvie boo-boos compared to the Alliance's own personal Wild Wild West? They both suck, but I mean…" He looked at the orders again and made a disgusted face. "I'm not the dumbass who couldn't follow procedure, what the hell are they thinking?"

Asking for elaboration on that seemed likely to go over just as well as his other questions. Brown was pretty much over it. "No idea. I told you, I'm just the messenger." Though if he'd had any say in the matter, he wouldn't have inflicted this guy on civilians either. "Just sign off on it, would you?"

Gregory gave him another look of irritation, but seemed to accept that. "Yeah, okay. I'm on it." He scrawled something illegible on the screen, muttering a few things under his breath that Brown politely pretended not to hear. "Nine tomorrow. I'll be there. You can buzz off now."

Brown was all too happy to do just that.

*****

_Navigator: Lieutenant Sven Holgersson, Deep Space Defense Agency._

Holgersson was probably one of the easier men to track down. The navigator’s former C.O. informed him that if he wasn’t on duty, in his quarters, or at some political party with his parents, he was at the base library buried in some book. Made his job easier. Brown’s eyebrow had quirked with surprise earlier when he learned of how frequently Sven was granted leave from the base to accompany his parents to some political function or party. Soldiers that had parents with as many connections as Sven’s obviously had, not to mention deep pockets, didn’t usually get transferred to Explorer Teams. Not that that was any of his business.

Walking into the base library Brown scanned the large room, and quickly spotted the lieutenant. He was seated at one of the many tables, alone, midway through a fairly thick book. Brown couldn’t make out the title as he walked over. Once there the title was easily read: _The Viking Way: Religion and War in Late Iron Age Scandinavia._

Sven seemed to be completely oblivious to his presence. Brown grunted to try and catch his attention. He didn’t. "Lieutenant Holgersson?"

Sven’s head snapped up, looked him over and immediately stood up, poster erect, face blank. "Sir."

"Relax Lieutenant, I’m just here to give you, your new assignment." Brown handed him the datapad. Sven smiled as he read it.

_Is this guy seriously smiling?_

"Off-world…" He said quietly to himself, and then seemed to remember that Brown was still there. Blushing, the lieutenant gave him the datapad back. "I will be there on time, sir." He had a heavy Scandinavian accent, which was the least surprising thing about the whole encounter.

"I’m sure you will be."

Brown walked away from the table, and Sven went back to his book.

The navigator seemed normal enough, nice even. He was definitely more polite and professional than most of the others. Brown wasn’t sure if that would be an asset or a hindrance on the lieutenant's new assignment… he sighed. Wasn’t his problem.

*****

_Pilot: Lieutenant Lance Charles McClain, Andromeda Vanguard, First Recon Wing._

Tracking down Lieutenant Lance "Maverick" McClain was a task. He was beginning to see a pattern, however. Everyone he asked said to go to The Bar. Finally after more pointed questions to ascertain what The Bar could be, he had a list of three. Somehow he got a stroke of luck and found McClain at the first. Playing darts. Or rather betting on darts.

"Now, if I win this round, you not only owe me ten dollars and a beer, you pay on our date," McClain said to a tall man with long hair and arm tattoos. Brown did a bit of double take on that, he was sure he’d heard rumors McClain was a ladies' man. But he looked at the orders and yes, the man in the leather jacket was the man whose face stared back at him.

"Lieutenant McClain?"

"Hey, we have a bet going on, wait your turn," the man with the tattoos snapped.

"Now, now," McClain winked at the guy then turned toward Brown, giving him a dazzling smile. It was all teeth and Brown found himself blinking. Then he winked and asked, "What can I do for you?"

Was he flirting? Brown cleared his throat. "I have your new assignment orders, Lieutenant McClain."

"Oh, why didn’t you say so… you’re Brown? Hey Trish, beautiful?" He reached into the crowd and grabbed a woman’s hand. He winked at her too. "Bring this guy a beer on me, sweetheart." She smiled at him and shook her head but disappeared as quickly as she appeared. "So, orders?" Lance asked him after a beat.

Brown mentally shook himself. He shouldn’t be surprised. Every one of the new Explorer Team members was interesting in some strange and new way. He handed McClain the orders.

McClain grabbed them and looked them over. Slowly a smirk appeared over his features. He looked up and grinned even wider. "Explorer Team? Sweet. You totally deserve that beer I’m buying you."

"Oh. Lieutenant, I really shouldn’t"

"Screw that, Brown. I’m getting an adventure. You get a beer."

"Um." Brown hedged and the waitress appeared with two beers on a tray. McClain handed him one.

"Come on, you know you want to." Lance winked.

Brown found he couldn’t say no.

******

_Chief engineer: Lieutenant Commander Flynn Kleid, Second Merchant Marine, ACS Magnusson._

Kleid had pulled general maintenance. The maintenance hangar was a cavernous building housing dozens of vehicles from scout bikes to small spacecraft, crawling with mechanics in dozens of different uniform patches. Duty here was a catch-all for mechanics awaiting reassignment; it was kind of a mess. Usually it would've been beneath an officer to be thrown in the pool, but such was the nature of drop duty.

The supervisor's office was tucked away in a back corner. "Director Beringer?"

She looked up and glanced at his nameplate. "Sergeant Brown, good to see you. I'm told you're here to finally take Kleid off my hands."

That was certainly the theme with this assignment. "Yes ma'am."

Beringer stood and led him to an armored personnel carrier on the far end of the hangar. A man with a long red ponytail was crouched at the back, working on the engine. "Kleid! Your… what are you doing? That vehicle didn't come in with engine trouble."

"It's carrying a Greypoint 820, it's the very definition of engine trouble." He sounded vaguely Australian and extremely bored. "I'm fixing it."

Groan. "Have you at least repaired the fuel leak? You know what, don't even answer that. You're being sent to purgatory, close that casing and go be a pain in someone else's ass."

Kleid complied with the first part and stood, eyeing her doubtfully. "Thought _this_ was purgatory." He turned a curious look on Brown.

He was tall and athletic, and his violet eyes were slightly unsettling. There was a time—measured more in hours ago than days—when Brown would've found him intimidating… but he'd already dealt with Garrett so that ship had pretty well sailed. "They've posted you to an Explorer Team. I'm here to do the transfer."

"Oh really?" A grin spread over Kleid's face. "Sounds fun."

"You _would_ think that. Enjoy it, I suppose." Beringer rolled her eyes and walked away.

Brown watched her go, waiting for her to be well out of earshot before looking up at Kleid and arching an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you pulled this posting due to problems with authority?"

"I don't have problems with authority!" he protested in a way that made it all too clear he'd been accused of it before. "Authority just has problems with _me_."

It was hard not to laugh at that. "I hate to tell you this, but you're about to _be_ authority. You're your new team's number two."

"I'm what?" He blinked. "That's a _terrible_ idea."

Shrug. "I don't write the rosters, I just play fetch. Let's get you out of here."

*****

_Commanding officer: Commander Keith Akira Kogane, Fifth Orion Fleet, AWS Vesuvius._

Hawkins' yeoman had informed him of the new team's commander's arrival fifteen minutes ago. He knew the suspense had to be killing him, but still wasn’t quite sure what exactly he should say to him about this whole situation. He sighed. _I may as well just get this over with._

"Kogane, get in here," he barked.

The young, nervous looking commander opened the door and stepped inside, giving a sharp salute. "Commander Keith Kogane, reporting as ordered, sir."

_God, he looks so damn young to be this rank._ He knew Kogane was one of the youngest commanders in the Alliance, but still. _Did I ever look THAT young?_ "At ease, Commander. Have a seat."

Keith blinked, obviously shocked at the command, but he took the seat as he’d been instructed to do. He looked around the empty conference room before his gaze settled back on Hawkins.

"Don’t look so shocked, Kogane," Hawkins stated, grinning at Keith’s shocked expression. "They all wanted to be here to drag you across whatever coals they possibly could, but your evidence and witness statements shut them up fairly quickly. Not to mention testimony from Sky Marshal Wade’s daughter. She apologizes, by the way."

Keith swallowed hard. "Um, thank you, sir?"

Hawkins shook his head. "Don’t be thanking me, Kogane. It was mostly your record and your evidence that saved your neck," Hawkins stated, leaning back into his chair and lacing his fingers over his stomach. "But, the sky marshal was insistent that you be sent a ‘hell of a long ways away’ from his daughter."

Keith frowned, but nodded. "I’m being demoted."

Hawkins shook his head again, a pained look on his face. "Not exactly."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "With all due respect, sir, what do you mean by that?"

"It means, Keith, you’re being reassigned."

Keith winced. "I’m afraid to ask, sir."

"You’re being assigned to the Explorer Teams," Hawkins stated, handing him a data pad. "Your orders and service files for your team."

"My team, sir?"

Hawkins nodded. "You’re being put in charge of a team, Keith. I’d say congratulations, but folks on explorer teams tend to be," he paused, searching for the right word, "troublesome and hard headed at times."

"…I know what an Explorer Team is, sir."

Hawkins grinned and nodded. "Good! Then you’re dismissed. You report to your new post tomorrow."

Keith stood and saluted. "Yes, sir."

Hawkins saluted back and watched Keith go, a sad look on his face. "He’s a good kid. The hell with politics, anyway."

*****

Keith walked down the hall at Alliance headquarters to his own office in a kind of dazed shock. He keyed in his access code and walked inside. He dropped the data pad onto his desk and dropped heavily into his chair, staring at the top of his desk. "An Explorer Team. I’ve been reassigned to an _Explorer Team_." He pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing this wasn’t the end of his career, but it was certainly not how he had planned his career to go. This was the Garrison’s way of saying he was too valuable to let go, but it wanted him gone. He sat in silence for several minutes, just processing, before he reached for the datapad before him.

He touched the button to unlock the screen, entered his username and passcode and started to study his orders and the team he’d been assigned to lead. To _lead_ , he thought, his eyes drifting away from the screen. _God. I mean, I know this is what I’ve been trained for, but am I really ready to do this?_ He looked back to the file names he had to look over. _I don’t have a choice. I have to lead. This mission must succeed_.


	2. Acquaintances

It was early when Keith got to the briefing room; he half expected Colonel Hawkins to be there, but the room was empty. The coffee wasn't even started. Fair enough. He started a fresh pot brewing and stared at it, willing it to brew faster, contemplating adding something a little stronger. The posting hadn't become any easier to accept, but maybe having a mission to focus on would improve things…

Maybe not, but no sense expecting the worst. Yet.

A few minutes and one mug of coffee later, a voice from the doorway startled him out of his thoughts. "Commander Kogane?"

_Here we go._ He took a moment to recover and turned; a tall red-haired man in a support division uniform was standing in the doorway. "Koga-ne, actually." He'd pronounced it _ko-gain_ , but then, most people did. "But yes."

"Sorry." The other man grimaced, then seemed to remember how the military worked and straightened, saluting. "Um, Lieutenant Commander Kleid reporting, sir."

_So there's my second._ Keith nodded and returned the salute. Encouraging for him to have turned up early too, at least. "Nice to meet you."

Flynn nodded quietly, taking stock of the commander who was obviously taking stock of him. He was younger than he would've expected and looked very serious, which frankly he wouldn't have expected either. Was there any point in having expectations for a posting like this? He shrugged it off and dropped into a chair, which earned him a raised eyebrow that he ignored. Why have chairs if they weren't supposed to sit in them?

Kogane didn't sit. "So, Mr. Kleid, have you reviewed the personnel files?"

Oh had he. "I did my homework." The one file he hadn't reviewed was, well, the commander's, because the brass hadn't seen fit to give him that one. Seemed like an oversight. "Ought to be fun."

That eyebrow raised a little higher. Okay, so the commander didn't think this was going to be fun, noted. He might've said something else, but another man had arrived in the doorway; he looked a little taken aback to see them there.

Kogane noticed, too. "Ah, another new member of the crew. And you are?"

Immediately the man snapped to attention, speaking in a heavy accent. "Lieutenant Sven Holgersson reporting as ordered."

Sven was a little irked with himself. He'd planned to be early. Well, he was still early, but he'd planned to be _earlier_. Maybe if he hadn't spent so long making sure he was presentable, really… he wanted to roll his eyes at himself, which he'd done more than a few times in the last hour, but decided it wouldn't be productive with two people who outranked him staring at him. Instead he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

_Just resist the urge to check your uniform for the hundredth time._

The commander was studying him carefully. The lieutenant commander gave him a quick once-over, looked at the commander, then looked back at him. "You can come inside, you know. There's chairs."

Truthfully Sven hadn't even realized he was still frozen in the doorway, and fought not to roll his eyes—again—as he entered and took a seat. He would've been mortified, but fortunately someone else was coming in right on his heels: a brown-haired man wearing a leather jacket over his uniform shirt.

Lance would've been earlier, but he'd gotten distracted by the cute blonde chick he'd passed in the hallway. The pains of being awesome were real. Now he strolled into the briefing room, stopping just past the doorway and checking out the three men inside.

_Very nice!_

One of them was standing, he was probably the boss. Lance gave him a smirk. "Lieutenant McClain reporting."

"Come on in, Mr. McClain. Have a seat." He said it a little stiffly, like he'd never said anything so friendly in his life, and Lance snorted. _Mister?_

Oh well. He smirked and went in, taking the chair next to the redhead, who glanced at him and nodded a greeting. Lance shot him a wink. At least the scenery on this mission was going to be nice.

The door to the briefing room burst open—it had already been open, but it _had_ to have burst open, because the enormous man who suddenly strode in _had_ to have thrown it open with that kind of entrance. It was just how things worked.

"Yo team, what's shakin'?" He plunked a huge box down on the table. "I brought breakfast!"

Hunk couldn't quite help but chuckle as everyone stared blankly at him. He always got that. The man in the commander's stripes regained his composure first. "Um… hello?"

"Oh, uh, right." _Formality and stuff._ "Senior Specialist Garrett reporting!" He flipped a salute in the boss's general direction.

"What's in the box, Mr. Garrett?"

"Did you say breakfast?"

He grinned at the brown-haired man who clearly had his priorities in order, and opened the box to reveal a dozen enormous donuts. "Maple bacon donuts! The only kind worth havin', obviously."

"I _need_ some of that."

_Heh, don't we all._ "Have at it, bro."

The man who'd been sitting at perfect attention leaned in slightly, looking more than a little conflicted. He hesitantly tore off part of one donut—well, not everyone could handle so much epic at once. The man in the jacket, on the other hand, grabbed one and took a huge bite with a moan of approval.

The boss looked like he wanted to change the subject, and did. "So we're just missing Gregory?"

"I'm here," a sharp voice snapped from the side of the room.

Jace had slipped in the door while everyone was preoccupied with the huge guy and his donuts; he was still mentally calculating just how much time a giant maple bacon donut would knock off the average person's lifespan. He crossed his arms and scowled slightly in response to the curious looks from the others, dark eyes just daring anyone to say anything. He _really_ didn't want to be here—he'd tried to oversleep but failed at it, because of course he had.

_I can't even be a delinquent when I'm trying, what the hell am I doing on an Explorer Team?_

"Dude, stop glarin' and come have a donut," Garrett grinned.

"Yeah how 'bout not."

The huge man just shrugged. "Your loss, bro."

At least he wasn't pushing the issue. Jace wasn't sure he really wanted to try a takedown on that guy.

_That's everyone._

Keith looked around at the team. _His_ team. It was quite a… well, it was quite something, anyway. But it was what he had. "Well, since we have coffee and what passes as breakfast, let's begin, shall we?" Garrett shot him a look that was all too clearly protesting the insult to his donuts. "I'm Keith Kogane. Commander." Now McClain gave him a stunned look, just for a moment. He wondered what that was about, but no doubt he'd learn soon enough. "How about you all introduce yourselves before the colonel arrives?" Sure, they'd all reported to _him_ , but it would help those who'd come in later.

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks for a moment. This _wasn't_ how a typical assignment started out, but they'd better make the most of it quickly… he glowered at Kleid, a not too subtle suggestion that his second back him up.

He got it and shrugged, crossing his arms on the table. "Flynn Kleid. I'm the mechanic." Keith's eyebrow shot up. "…What?"

Next to him, McClain smirked again. That seemed to be his go-to expression. "Lance McClain, best pilot in the galaxy."

… _Oh boy._

Garrett flopped in a chair and took a huge gulp of coffee. "Name's Hunk, resident master blaster here for all your kaboom-ing needs!"

Holgersson gave a short nod. He looked almost as uncomfortable here as Keith felt. "Sven Holgersson. Navigation."

The last arrival slouched in his seat and rolled his eyes. "Jace Cardoso Gregory. My job's to keep you people relatively intact, but if you keep eating giant maple bacon donuts I can't save you."

Well, if there had been _any_ questions about what kind of unit he was dealing with here, Keith was pretty sure they'd all just been answered.

*****

Hawkins made it a point never to be early for initial briefings. Throwing the whole team together in the wild, as it were, to let them gel a little bit at first was his preference. It had only backfired on him once. Or twice. Okay, a few times. But things seemed congenial enough as he reached the briefing room and knocked on the doorway to get their attention.

"Gentlemen."

Kogane straightened and snapped his head up, immediately all business. "Attention on deck!"

Holgersson jumped to perfect attention. The rest of the team… didn't. Gregory managed to stand at some semblance of attention eventually, giving a salute that wasn't wholly convincing. McClain stood, gave a quick salute, and returned to his seat with a smirk. Garrett didn't even stand, he just saluted casually and went back to the donut he was eating. And Kleid stood, leaning back against the table, saluting with one hand and nudging Kogane with the other; he muttered something that looked like _there aren't any decks here_.

The commander scowled at his second briefly, then turned back to the doorway and gave a perfect, crisp salute. "Colonel Hawkins, Explorer Team 686 reporting as ordered, sir."

Hawkins chuckled. "At ease, boys, if you weren't already."

"Always easy," McClain muttered just loud enough to be heard.

"I'll bet you are," Gregory retorted, taking his seat.

_Ah, good, they're already off to a wonderful start._

The others who'd been standing returned to their chairs, except Kleid, who sat on the table. Hawkins turned his attention to Kogane, who looked more than a little bit embarrassed by his team's performance. "It's alright, Commander. If we were sticklers for protocol we wouldn't be Explorer Teams. I trust you've all gotten acquainted?" He looked at the box of donuts and blinked. "…Is that bacon?"

"Course it's bacon!" Garrett looked scandalized. "Why wouldn't it be bacon?" He pushed the box forward.

It was a tempting offer, but first things first. Hawkins chuckled in response, then sobered as he walked to the front of the room and activated the main screen. "Alright, listen up. This mission is simple, but I don't want any of you taking that to mean that it's unimportant." A few chairs squeaked, and he could feel their full attention on him. "As I'm sure you're all aware, the ongoing cold war with the Drules is only one of many threats we're tracking." He brought up a map; not the standard map of the Interior Expanse they were all no doubt familiar with, but a stretch of the Rim with several icons indicating recent attacks. "For some time now we've been dealing with sporadic raids from a distant empire called the Galra. Command sees them as more of a nuisance than a strategic threat, but when they strike they strike fast and hard and our defenses are rarely effective."

Most of the team looked vaguely confused, or perhaps showed a glimmer of recognition. McClain, on the other hand…

"Nuisance?" he yelled, jumping out of his seat, nearly knocking Kleid off his perch on the table. Kogane gave him a sharp look that he ignored, if he even noticed. " _Nuisance?!_ They kill anyone who gets in their way!"

Hawkins just watched him seriously. _That answers that_. He'd expected it to come up, but… "As I said," he repeated quietly. "This mission is very important, no matter what Command may think."

McClain was still visibly seething, but sat back down as his commander broke in more diplomatically. "We understand, sir. What exactly is it we're doing?"

_What Explorer Teams do_. "We've been unable to even ascertain a motive for the Galra raids. They won't speak to us, and usually if we do disable one of their ships they self destruct." He pointed to one of the combat icons on the map, one of few not shaded in red. "About a month ago, garrison forces on Skovos managed to take one of their vessels intact. Intel was able to decipher parts of its navigational log and communications."

Now he absolutely had their full attention. Kogane was the only one who spoke. "They found something valuable?"

"Maybe. There are references to something called 'the Search'." Hawkins pointed to two of the red icons. "Two of their prior nav locations were near known raids on our territory. Local troops investigated the precise coordinates and found ransacked ancient ruins." He indicated the three sites in green. "They had three nav points programmed in that they hadn't visited yet, and that's where you come in."

Garrett nearly dropped his donut. "We're gonna play Indiana Jones?"

"Huh?" Holgersson spoke for most of them, if everyone else's expressions were any hint.

"Uh…" The big man looked sheepish. "Never mind."

Hawkins couldn't help a wry smile. "Garrett, I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to teach your teammates about ancient cinema."

"Oh, joy," Gregory muttered under his breath.

No sense letting that go any further. Moving right along. "Your mission is to investigate each site and return with a full report. Bring back anything you suspect might be significant."

"Wait, we're looting ruins now?" Gregory scowled. "Didn't have any vultures available?"

McClain's eyes narrowed. "So we're going into Galra territory?"

"Isn't this kind of an odd mission, sir?" Kogane looked more than a bit concerned.

Hawkins looked between them and gave a small smile, addressing Kogane's point first. "There's no such thing as an 'odd' Explorer Team mission, Commander." He turned his focus to the other two. "What you retrieve from the sites is entirely up to your team's discretion. And no, so far as we know you aren't going to Galra territory—honestly their raids are so far-ranging we don't know precisely where that is. To the best of our knowledge, two of the planets you'll be visiting are independent and the other is uninhabited."

That didn't seem to bother McClain, who gave a much darker smile than his usual smirk. "But we're going on their treasure hunt."

"That you are. We need to understand their motives."

"Sir." Kogane was still looking uneasy. "Won't the Galra send another ship, if their last one disappeared?"

"Let 'em," McClain muttered.

His commander shot him a warning look. "Whatever you have against them, it has to wait." That earned him a murderous glare. "We have a mission."

"Gentlemen." They fell silent, and Hawkins looked at the screen again. Kogane's was a good question that Intel had been a bit too cagey about answering. "We have no idea what the Galra command or communications network is like. They may send another ship; we expect if they do it'll return to Skovos first, which hasn't happened. If you do encounter them, observe and report. What they do at the sites could be even more important than the sites alone."

Kogane nodded. McClain didn't look thrilled with the observe and report order; Kleid gave him a wary look before turning to Hawkins. "So this isn't a combat mission."

"No. Recon only. Intel believes hostilities are unlikely, but of course you'll be cleared and equipped in case you need to defend yourselves."

Once again their pilot looked like he might start yelling, but visibly clenched his jaw and remained silent. Holgersson and Gregory both eyed him warily, but said nothing either.

Garrett had been quiet for awhile; now he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Not that I'm complainin' or anything, but what am I gonna do? We supposed to blow these places once we check 'em out?"

It seemed like the question surprised a couple of them. Hawkins shook his head. "No. We don't know how accessible the sites might be. Don't hesitate to blow your way in if necessary; the Galra will strip the sites clean, so preservation isn't a concern. But you don't need to blow them all to hell for the sake of doing so. What you're after is information."

Garrett looked a little disappointed to hear he wasn't going to be blowing things up for the hell of it. Kleid glanced over at him. "You're also the only other engineer. I'll keep you busy."

"…That sounds kinda like a threat."

Smirk. "Might be."

Keith looked around, trying to gauge the team's reactions. McClain scared him a little, he knew that much. As for the rest of it, well… he looked up again as Colonel Hawkins turned the screen off.

"Are there any further questions? Don't hesitate to speak freely."

"Are you kidding us with this?" Gregory muttered.

_Maybe not that freely, Specialist…_

Hawkins seemed to share that opinion, eyeing the medic coolly. "There are much worse places you could be right now, Gregory."

"…Point."

Next to the medic, Holgersson edged away as if trying to escape the blast radius. He looked like he was thinking about worse places _he_ could be, too.

An awkward silence fell for a few moments, but their bomb tech was having none of it. "Who brings the beer?"

Keith arched an eyebrow, then smirked. "Sounds like you just volunteered, Garrett."

"Oh I _totally_ volunteer, boss."

Suddenly he wasn't the only one, either.

"I've always got beer."

"I'll bring stuff that's way harder than beer."

"I'll bring screwdrivers."

"…Dude, you're not funny."

"I thought it was funny!"

Keith shook his head. _At least we're focused on the important things._

Even Hawkins chuckled. "I'll leave that to you gentlemen to sort out. Your assigned ship is an _Endeavor_ -class named _Firecrown_ , berthed in Auxiliary Hangar Four. You'll have a launch slot tomorrow evening."

_Quick turnaround. But that might be a good thing_. "Thank you, sir. We'll be there."

Hawkins nodded, saluted the team… and grabbed a donut before leaving the room.

Letting out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Keith looked around at the team. _His_ team, insane as it was. "Well, you heard the colonel, gents. We have less than 48 hours to be packed and ready to go. So unless anyone has anything else to raise…"

Kleid shook his head, exchanging looks with Garrett. "We'll go check out the ship."

"And then we'll respectfully ask her on a date." That got him a glare.

With the Galra no longer being discussed, McClain was all smiles and smirks again. "Yeah, get her in good shape for me!"

Holgersson was still quiet, but a small smile was crossing his face as he watched the others. Gregory didn't look nearly so enthused. But being thrown together on a ship as soon as possible would probably be the best thing for team bonding. Or a total disaster, but still no point expecting the worst.

"Alright, I'll see you all soon. Dismissed."

*****

"Well, that went over like a lead balloon," Keith muttered once everyone else had cleared out of the conference room. He dropped into a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, it is an Explorer Team, this is probably as good as it is going to get." He sighed and stood, gathering up his things before heading to his office to finish gathering his few personal items there. Once done, he went to his on-base quarters, which weren’t much to begin with, and began to pack. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the room while he was deployed, they’d need it for someone else coming in. He’d get a new room when he got back. He just wasn’t crazy enough to get a room out in town. Too many distractions.

It didn’t take him long to gather up his stuff that was spread around the apartment. The majority of his meager belongings were soon stuffed into a single sea bag and what he wasn’t taking with him was put into boxes.

A knock sounded on the door and he answered it, nodding to the moving crew and waving them in. "Just those ones there. The furniture came with the place, so it stays."

"Yes, sir." They added stickers to the boxes, scanned them and turned the pad to him. "Just need your authorization and we’ll be out of here."

Keith pressed his index finger to the small blinking square on the screen.

The man took it back from him, hit a couple of buttons. "All right, Commander. I’ll send you an electronic copy of this. Hurry up, boys. We still have a couple more to visit tonight," he instructed. The men quickly lifted the boxes onto a small cart and hauled them out of the apartment to be transported over to a storage unit just off base.

Keith watched them go, then flipped on the entertainment system. Music began to float around him. He really had nothing more to do tonight except sleep. He ordered some food to be delivered and moved to the balcony to wait for it.

Once his dinner arrived, he took it out and sat on the small balcony his tiny room had been lucky enough to get, watching the sun slowly sink into the calm blue water as he ate. "Tomorrow I won’t be seeing this," he whispered. "It will be off to the Rim to dodge space pirates, of all things, with what has to be the craziest and crankiest team I’ve ever seen." He sighed. "I never thought I’d be dropped into the Explorer Teams, I don’t even know how I’ll handle this group. Everything I’ve been trained for as a commander is…" He shook his head and speared some chicken with his fork. "Hell, I can’t even explain how… different this team is compared to what I thought I would someday be commanding." He took a sip of water and laughed at himself. "Look at me… night before deployment, I’m sitting at home, having dinner, drinking water, and talking to myself. Willing to bet I’m the craziest one of this new team."

He finished dinner, cleaned up, then headed to bed, leaving the music playing.

*****

As it turned out, the _Firecrown_ was not in Auxiliary Hangar Four just yet. It had been repainted to look a little less Alliance-y, which seemed like a decent idea under the circumstances. What hadn't been a decent idea was trying to transfer it to the hangar right after finishing the job. Before the paint had fully set.

In the pouring rain.

So now it was being repainted, again, and they could have it when it was finished. No problem. Hunk had a cargo manifest and a shopping list and was making himself useful in the meantime.

The Alliance would give them plenty of bland bulk foodstuffs from requisitions, of course. But someone would have to make that junk edible, and that required special supplies.

His trek through Merritt's Market was getting him plenty of funny looks, but Hunk didn't care. He was going to get funny looks no matter what he did—he'd learned that early on. And if people were going to stare at you no matter what, you might as well take two carts at once and make _vroom-vroom_ noises on your way down the aisles.

It had taken him too long to come to that conclusion. There was a time it had bothered him. The looks, the nervousness, the assumption that anyone that big had to be all brawn and no brain. But what the hell? If he was going to have the reputation no matter what he did, might as well have fun with it.

Big Dumb Hunk was a goof who was handy with bombs and grills, and that was that.

The staff here knew him and his antics well, and the stocker he ran into in the spice aisle didn't even blink. "Hey, Hunk, what's on the menu today?"

He turned and gave the voice a thumbs-up. "Yo, Nate the Great! Stockin' up for six today, would you believe I'm deploying?"

The young man made a face. "Are you really? Who's gonna buy all the murder pepper sauce while you're gone? Swear you're the only person brave enough to touch it."

Hunk eyed the dozen bottles in one of his carts and shrugged. "I'll get the whole crew hooked on it by the time we're home, promise."

"I believe you." Grin. "Be careful out there, big guy."

_Be careful out there._

As he moved on to the beer aisle he couldn't help the words echoing in his mind. Being careful wasn't really in his skillset—well, not unless he had bombs on hand. But ginormous explosions weren't really about caution or subtlety.

If he didn't worry about high explosives, why would he worry about a scavenger hunt?

But then… his last posting had been with a proper engineering corps on Ganymede, where the only real concerns were bad bosses and bad food. Which to be fair _had_ both gotten him in trouble, but it wasn't quite the same as heading out to the middle of who knew where to steal loot from under a bunch of glorified space pirates' noses. Things could go really, really wrong.

_Yeah, and you could've crashed and died a hundred times on the crush car circuit… every weekend._

_Harsh, but fair._

No. He wasn't worried. If anything he was excited. How many people, even in the Alliance military, got to go on an adventure quite this crazy?

Maybe he was too dense to even realize it was dangerous. Being Big Dumb Hunk did have its perks.

_Yeah, let's go with that._

"Vroom vroom!"

*****

Regardless of what one might _expect_ of such a critical division, Medical was a hot mess. Jace had put in his records request with all reasonable speed, but he would be shocked if he actually had the team's files before takeoff. Fine. Whatever. If he had to drill them all for a proper history himself, he would. And when they didn't much care for that—nobody ever did—it wouldn't be _his_ fault.

_Kind of seeing a pattern here._

Nothing more he could do about it, so he'd fully intended to go find some female companionship in the meantime. It was only fair, considering he was about to spend who the hell knew how long on a ship full of crazy dudes.

That wasn't a clinical diagnosis. Oh well.

It had been the plan, and it had been a perfectly good one. But on his way to the red light district some other red lights got his attention. Well, more the sirens got his attention. He couldn't help but follow them; it was a well developed reflex at this point.

The sirens led him to an intersection with a cluster of emergency vehicles and a large crowd. Because why wouldn't there be a crowd, really. Jace stepped up to the edges and stumbled over something on the sidewalk; looking down he saw what could only be a piece of shattered headlight.

Well. So much for female companionship.

"Hey! Clear out, medic coming through!" he snapped, pushing through the crowd. "Don't make me move you people, don't think I won't!"

It didn't work very well, and in fairness the crowd was thick enough that nobody had much of anywhere _to_ move. That was all that really stopped him from punching his way through. But he'd trained to find his way through battlefields, a bunch of stupid gawkers was nothing. He made it to the front of the crowd without too much trouble, and was confronted with… well, not the kind of carnage he'd expected.

_Holy shit._

It wasn't the injuries, it was the _bike_. What was vaguely recognizable as a motorcycle was strewn around the intersection in three pieces, give or take a few hundred smaller debris fragments. Someone's crotch rocket had had a _bad_ day.

No victim was immediately visible, but if there was still an ambulance, there was still a victim. He moved up to one of the two officers doing crowd control, digging in his pocket for his Alliance ID tags. "Hey, Q4 field medic, can I help?"

The cop checked his tags and nodded, directing him back behind the emergency vehicles. Two EMTs were crouched over a woman in a pool of blood, and a third was doing CPR on someone whose features he couldn't make out.

"Hey! You the medic?" The one doing CPR looked up as he drew closer. "This guy's gonna need a tube, like, real fast. Busted lung. Our Q4's still five minutes out, can you do it?"

Jace grinned slightly, adrenaline sparking. Oh hell yes, he could do it. This was what he lived for. "You got it."

*****

The Razorlight Tavern was one of very few bars in Garrison territory that Lance wasn't intimately familiar with. Mostly, he doubted it would be much fun; it had a reputation as a great place to watch the big game, but not so great for taking someone home for a victory celebration afterwards. Not a full service bar, so to speak. But tonight the Wreck was booked solid, the Blitzed Bomber had a line out the door, and the Recess had apparently caught their damn kitchen on fire… again. The Razorlight was all that was left in the western district, so the Razorlight it was.

The place was rowdy and crowded, just how he liked it. There wasn't a single seat at the bar, which was… less so. He shrugged and went prowling the tables for either an open spot, or someone he could charm into sharing. Maybe he'd get lucky tonight after all.

A seemingly empty booth in the corner caught his eye. It would do. Bolting before someone else could steal it, he swung around and found it not so empty after all. Its occupant was just unclear on the concept of this whole bar thing, and had his legs stretched across one side with a book in his lap—a damn _book_ , really?—rather than sitting up and getting drunk watching a game like a normal person.

He was hot though… _wait_ …

In the roughly five seconds it took Lance to fully gauge the situation, the booth's occupant noted his presence and looked up. His violet eyes took on a shock that had to mirror Lance's own. "McClain?"

Why yes, that was his new unit's chief engineer sitting in the bar with a _book_. "Dude, what are you doing? Don't you know how bars work?"

Kleid arched an eyebrow. "Yes, they can't put on the game you came for until it actually starts."

…Okay, fair point, probably. Still. "So you watch a different game!"

"Do you see what's on? Fake sports!" Snort. "I'm about to be running your engine bay, you don't want me murdering my brain cells."

Lance turned and looked up at the monitor, just in time to see some wrestler smack another one across the face with what looked like a palm tree. "Okay," he snickered, "I'll give you that one."

"Best you do. I'm reading up on the ship they gave us for when you flyboys inevitably _break_ it." He gestured to the other side of the booth. "Are you looking for a seat?"

"What makes you think I'd want to be seen with you?" Smirk. "Especially after you insult my godlike flying skills like that. Rude."

Kleid returned the smirk. "You do know I've read your file? Your real one?"

"Then you know I'm right!" Lance dropped into the booth and grabbed the engineer's glass, taking a drink and making a face. He couldn't identify it, but it was way too sweet. "I hope your taste in teams is better than your taste in beer." He shoved it back across the table to its rather bemused owner. "What _is_ that stuff?"

"Something German that I can't pronounce. It was on tap, I'm not picky." He shrugged, then smirked again. "I'm open to suggestions, if you're buying."

Oh he was, was he? Lance grinned wickedly. "Make you a deal, a glass of the good stuff's on me if I can just call you Flynn. I don't buy drinks for people unless I'm on a first name basis."

That got him another raised eyebrow and a laugh. "Normally I wouldn't make you bribe me with beer for that, but since you've offered…"

"Tough negotiator, huh?"

"Oh, of course." Flynn winked. "I'm sure you'll get me back for it someday."

Damn, he was pretty, and even sounded pretty… even if he _was_ reading a book in a bar and drinking awful beer. "You better believe it." He flagged down a waitress and flashed his most winning smile. "What's the darkest microbrew you've got? Actually I don't need a name, just bring us two."

Flynn had the grace not to openly laugh until she was gone. "I see you're very discerning."

"Dude, just you wait. Mass brewed garbage is garbage." Lance leaned back and crossed his arms. "So hi, by the way. You come here often?" Inwardly he groaned; he'd seriously just used that line unironically, and that would be to his eternal shame, but he wanted to know the answer, dammit.

Either Flynn missed his failure or just politely opted to ignore it. "Often enough." He closed the book and took a drink of his inferior beer. "So you must be the one who doesn't."

Heh. "Nope. The Wreck's more my style."

"It _would_ be."

Smirk. "What's that supposed to mean, exactly?"

"I keep telling you I've read your file, McClain."

"Hey now!" Lance glowered. "What did I say about first name basis?" He set aside the point about his file, because… well, it was a pretty good point. Wait, no it wasn't. "And I have nothing to do with wrecks! Even my file says I'm reck _less_. They're just jealous that I get the job done faster, better, and more badass."

"Those aren't the exact words they used." He winked again. "But as long as you don't break my ship you're not really my problem. Not like any of us got this assignment by drawing inside the lines, hmm?"

Eyebrow raise. "Whose ship?"

"You heard me, flyboy."

"We'll just see about that, grease monkey."

The waitress cut off the discussion by returning with the beer, shooting Lance a shy smile before departing. He returned it automatically and turned his attention to the glasses, motioning for Flynn to try his first. "Go on. Drink and learn."

"You've staked far too much on this." The engineer laughed softly and took a cautious sip of his drink; his eyes lit up. "…Though you're right, that _is_ good."

"See? Told you. Cheers!" He threw back a swig that might've been just a little bit overcompensating.

...And nearly choked on easily the worst dark beer he'd ever tasted. Well, fuck.

Flynn didn't miss it. "So what do you think?" His tone was about as syrupy sweet as his other beer had been.

Momentarily forgetting that bit about him being a superior officer, Lance flipped him off. "Oh sure, laugh it up. _You_ still have no taste."

"Times like this that works to my advantage."

Okay, so that… was a decent point too. And pretty. _Would it be pushing too far to just ask him to say 'advantage' about a hundred more times?_ Maybe he'd be better off just checking out the menu. "At least you don't deny it. You'll understand if I don't ask you for suggestions on food."

Flynn looked mildly scandalized. "Who comes to a bar worried about the _food?"_

"Obviously not you!" Smirk. "What game are you here for, anyway?"

The engineer's expression became a little chagrined. "I'm jumping on the Coyotes bandwagon because I suppose someone ought to. Don't know a thing about hockey though, do you?"

"The Coyotes?!" No, his taste in teams was _not_ any better than his taste in beer. "No, nobody _ought to_ jump on their bandwagon. The only people who like the Coyotes are either from Arizona or just going through a phase."

"And what if I am from Arizona?" Flynn retorted, sipping his beer and frowning over the glass. "Don't tell me you're a Jets fan."

"Why the hell wouldn't you think I'm a Jets fan? They're _Jets!_ You've read my file!"

"…Granted."

Right then the waitress turned up again. "How's the beer, gentlemen?"

"Gentlemen?" Lance looked around in mock confusion. "Where? I don't see any gentlemen around—"

"—What he means is the beer was so wonderful he just couldn't _stand_ it," Flynn interrupted in that mockingly sweet tone.

_What an asshole_. _I like that!_

She giggled. "Okay, guys. Can I get you anything else?"

Lance considered that for a moment. "You have Val's Amber here?"

The waitress consulted her datapad. "Sure do."

"Excellent!" He gave her a sly wink. "I'll take a mug of that, an ultra burger with no mayo, some fries, and your phone number?"

Flynn visibly choked on his beer to keep from laughing as the waitress went brightred. "I, ah…" She turned to the engineer to cover it. "And would _you_ like anything else?"

"Something heavy to throw at him?" he suggested innocently. "But I'm good otherwise, thanks."

"Okay, I'll get yours right in then." She offered Lance another shy smile before retreating. Oh, he totally had this.

His companion seemed less convinced. "Are you actually expecting that to work?"

"You just watch it work." He grinned wickedly. "Why, you want a threesome?"

Flynn threw a fork at him, which was unfortunate. "So basically your taste in women is just as discerning as in beer and hockey teams. Noted."

"Hey now! I _know_ you're not insulting the lovely… um…" He turned and looked around, but she was out of his view now. "What's her name?"

The only answer was Flynn dissolving into hysterical laughter. Lance threw his fork back at him.

_Jerk. Awesome jerk._

As Flynn recovered his gaze lifted to somewhere over Lance's shoulder. "What in…?"

Lance turned and looked at the screen behind him. It looked like the Coyotes/Jets game was supposed to be starting, but instead there was a picture of a darkened ice rink that was clearly full of water. Something about a massive power failure was scrolling across the screen. "See, this is why you don't have hockey in Arizona."

"Maybe a Jets fan blew up the generator."

"I'd call that a public service!" He reflexively took another drink of the failure beer, then coughed and sputtered. It somehow tasted even worse the second time. "Dude. If there's not gonna be hockey I guess we're keeping ourselves entertained. What do you make of the boss? I was expecting some real Top Gun shit from the legendary Keith Kogane, but he mostly seems pretty uptight."

Flynn blinked, then a slow smile spread over his face. "You do like to live _dangerously_ ," he chuckled. "You want _me_ to gossip with you about our commanding officer?"

Oh. Yeah that would probably be bad form. Lance shrugged. "It was worth a shot? You're way too cool to put me in for whatever reg that violates."

He was pretty sure the engineer's cheeks flushed a little at that, and it was fucking adorable.

"Well I can promise you Kogane wouldn't have let that slide, anyway." He leaned back, crossing his arms and frowning slightly. "He's either going to figure out we're an Explorer Team, or he's going to be as much of a pain in my ass as I am in his."

Oh, they'd see about that, too. "I promise you I'll be more of a pain in his ass than you will."

"I'm not at _all_ fool enough to take that bet."

Lance chuckled as his food arrived—and with it, finally, some _real_ beer. He winked at the waitress, who blushed as she departed, and gulped down about a quarter of the glass at once. "Oh, that's _so_ much better."

Flynn rolled his eyes and took his glass of the failure beer; that was fine, he could have it. "I should bring some of this on the ship just to annoy you."

"Annoy me? Not hardly. Just means one less person drinking up the good stuff." He turned his attention to the burger, and that was when he caught sight of the extra napkin the waitress had brought. With a phone number scrawled on it. "Oh hey! How about this?"

The engineer stared. "You… she really… unbelievable."

"And you doubted me. Rude."

"I'm _so_ glad you're going to be Kogane's problem and not mine."

Lance smirked and started on his burger. _I'll bet you are_. Oh yes. One way or another, this was going to be _fun_.

*****

"Sven! Oh sweetheart, I’m so happy you called!"

Sitting in his room after the briefing, Sven smiled nervously at the image of his mom, putting a pillow behind him as he got more comfortable on his simple bed. "Mom, you asked me to."

"Oh, I know, but I didn’t know if your commanding officer would allow you to do so, considering your… new mission." She looked like she wanted to say something more about that, then seemed to think better of it. "Is it exciting?"

"It’s not anything I can talk about, but it’ll get me out and about. A change of scenery isn’t a bad thing." He sounded the slightest bit defensive. He knew well that his parents weren't exactly thrilled by this posting.

"Honestly, Sven, I knew you wouldn’t be able to talk about the mission. I'm just concerned for you."

He smiled, shaking his head with just the barest of motions. "Don’t worry about me, Mom."

"I’m your mother. That’s what I do."

"Well, I’ll probably get along alright with the other crew members. How about that?"

"Anything strike you about them in particular?"

Sven made a face. "They’re certainly… charismatic."

"In a bad way?" she asked a little too quickly.

"No, I don’t think so. One is absolutely the most outgoing of the bunch. He brought in donuts. They were enormous. I have no idea where he even got them."

"Donuts? To a briefing?"

"He didn’t seem like the type to worry about doing things by the book." Sven paused. "Not particular things, anyway. He’s clearly there for a reason."

"Sven, you aren’t making me feel better about this."

"Mom, you don’t have a thing to worry about. I promise. This will be good for me! I’ll get out, see some of the galaxy… who knows? Maybe it’ll be as simple as it seems and I’ll be back before you know it." Despite his carefully placed smile, Sven felt his heart sink. It was a blatant lie; he had no idea how long the mission would actually take, or if he’d return in due time like he promised. Deep down, he felt like his mom would know that, too. There were reasons he'd never left Earth before, and they weren't _his_ choice. The best he could do, he felt, was comfort and hope.

His mom smiled at him, though he could see just the barest concern still in her eyes. "Perhaps you will. I don’t want to keep you for too long, Sven. I assume you leave soon?"

Soon? Yes. He paused a moment. "…We’ll be gone before you wake up tomorrow morning." A little ripple of shock ran through him when he told the second lie. Why had he done that? Maybe to stave off a drawn-out, last minute phone call… or maybe to assert his independence and pull away from their influence.

If his mom knew he lied, she didn’t show it. "Then I won’t keep you. You have long night ahead and a longer day tomorrow." Then she smiled sadly, her eyes welling with tears, and Sven, though he didn't think it merited such worry, found himself smiling back. "Please just be safe, and we’ll see you when you come back, okay?"

"You bet. I love you, Mom."

Her tears ran down her cheeks. She laughed, embarrassed, and tried to blink them away. "I love you too, son. Good night."

Without a word, Sven closed the transmission. It was done. He’d finally severed a tie with his family that he’d never done before. He was free to get out on his own, make his own decisions, and not worry about what kind of image it would cast in the political circles. He was finally free to be his own man.

He knew it wasn’t that easy, but in the moment, knowing he wouldn’t be back home anytime soon, it _felt_ that easy. Taking advantage of the time, he pulled the blanket over his head and settled in for sleep.

*****

Morning found Keith freshly showered and downstairs turning in the key to his apartment.

"We will miss you around here, Commander. You’re one of the few who would do what was needed in here," the officer at the front office stated.

"Well, I’ll be back eventually," he answered with a small smile. _I hope…_

"So, where are you off to?" the officer asked as he finished up the last couple pieces of paperwork that Keith would have to sign.

"The Rim. Well, sort of."

The officer stopped and looked up at him. "The Rim? Are you kidding me? What do they have you doing? Chasing renegade space pirates?"

Keith chuckled softly. "Something like that."

"What a waste of a good officer," the officer muttered as he finished. He stood up and walked to the counter, setting the datapad down. "Everything is in order, just need a fingerprint and you’ll be on your way outta here."Keith looked it over briefly and pressed his finger to the blinking box. "Well, good luck, Commander. You’re gonna need it out there," the officer said as he picked the pad back up.

"Thanks. Appreciate it." The man nodded and then disappeared back into the office as Keith hoisted his sea bag onto his shoulder. Stepping outside, he almost ran into a man waiting by the door. "Excuse me. Sorry about that, Sergeant."

"It’s all right, sir." The sergeant paused. "Commander Kogane?"

Keith nodded. "That’s right. You are?"

"Sergeant Brown. I’m here to offer you a ride to the ship, sir."

"Oh. Well, better than walking. Thank you, Sergeant. Lead the way."

Brown grinned. At least the commander was a far cry from being the pain in the ass that the rest of his team had been. "This way, sir."

*****

It was impossible not to be awed by the Castle of Lions…

Orla Kirlana Altair, Queen of the Seven Isles, was no stranger to noble splendor. Her kingdom was one of the most prosperous on Arus, and her branch of the nobility was closest to the throne. But there was noble splendor and then there was _this_. The huge castle's polished stone walls gleamed in the sunlight, banners of every color whipping in the breeze. The lion statues flanking the main doors looked like they could spring to life any second; the doors themselves were carved with intricate scenes of the Golden Gods and their great deeds. Several other such murals were engraved on the outer walls, making the castle as much a work of art as a center of government.

"It's remarkable, isn't it?"

"Hmph."

"I thought you might say something like that."

At her side and lagging just far enough behind to be insolent, her daughter just glowered. "Yeah, remarkable. Remarkable that you're just going to dump me here to—"

"—Larmina, please." They'd been over this at least a dozen times. "I'm trying to do what's best for you. It's only a few months." She reached out and ruffled her daughter's fiery hair, which dampened her scowl a bit. "And I'll hardly be out of touch."

"This whole thing is out of touch," Larmina grumbled halfheartedly. She would've had more to say—she always did—but at that moment the doors swung open, their deafening _creak_ silencing her.

"Aunt Orla!"

In a flurry of pink and blue fabric, a young woman rushed from the castle and wrapped her up in a hug. Which surely wasn't royal decorum, but Orla laughed and happily returned the hug. It had been a long time since she'd seen her 'niece'—really her distant cousin, but tradition was tradition.

"Allura, it's so good to see you again." She stepped back and smiled, gently nudging Larmina forward. "Allow me to present Lady Larmina, my daughter."

There was still a bit of a scowl on Larmina's face as she curtsied, getting more of her traveling cloak than her dress in the gesture. "Nice to meet you, I guess."

Silently thanking the Golden Gods that the High King hadn't come to greet them himself, Orla bit back a chuckle as her niece returned the curtsy. "It's an honor. I am Allura Hanna Raimon, Crown Princess of Arus."

Not even Larmina could quite keep a glare up at that; her jaw dropped. "You are? Oh."

Now that chuckle Orla had been biting back escaped. "Allura, I can't tell you how grateful I am to you and your father for this." It wasn't an empty platitude. She knew others among the court were talking… _she_ was used to it, and Larmina more so. But for the High King to implicitly give his blessing to the 'shame of Altair'? It took a special kind of ruler to do that, as she was very well aware.

Others among the nobility were _not_ so accommodating.

"Of course." The young princess smiled, offering a hand to Larmina. Clearly Alfor's daughter was learning from the king himself, not those around him. "It'll be nice to have someone closer to my age around the castle for awhile. Come with me, I'll show you to your room."

… _This is it, then._ Orla knew this was necessary. Larmina needed to be here right now. It didn't really make it easier, and she didn't blame her daughter for being upset. But hopefully it would all be worth it… no, surely it would. With a sigh, she leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "It's alright. You'll be back home before you know it."

"Yeah. Whatever." Larmina brushed her off and tried for another scowl, though it wasn't very convincing. Then she turned to Allura, ignoring her hand. "Lead on, Auntie."

Orla blanched, but Allura just giggled. She could only hope that was a good sign…

*****

Nanny fumed as she watched from the window how the Crown Princess greeted Queen Orla. "It is a disgrace how she acts, your Majesty. I tell her constantly not to act so familiar with others," she huffed.

"You know how much she loves her Aunt Orla. There should be no shame in giving a hug. Anyways, you know that after she gets her hug out of the way, she becomes the proper princess you so strive for her to be." Alfor chuckled as he looked over some papers.

"Perhaps so, but it may make things much harder for me! I now must deal with Lady Larmina as well as her Highness. I fear this Larmina will be a bad influence on her and put a wild streak in my sweet baby." she muttered as she wrung her fists in her skirt.

"Nonsense… while Allura can be very headstrong, I hardly feel a lady like Larmina can create such chaos within my daughter. If anything, Allura should be a good influence on her. Allura can be very empathetic, and she may be able to help Larmina see that being part of the nobility can have some benefits, despite her circumstances."

"Humph… She’s still too wild." Alfor looked up sternly at the governess. With a sigh, she straightened herself. "But as you wish, I will give my all in making her a proper Lady, suitable for her debut ball and the High Royal Court…. no matter how hard it will be." She muttered the last part under her breath, hoping her king didn’t hear.

Still giving the governess a look of great concern, he nodded. "I expect nothing less. Now… I'll let you go prepare for your task." With that, he went back to his papers.

Sighing again with a low curtsy, she left the room as swiftly as her legs could take her without looking as if she was running. Preparing the ball would be the easy part. Preparing the Lady for her debut, well…

_Golden Gods help us._


	3. Explorers

Dawn found Flynn in Auxiliary Hangar Four, now that they actually had a ship there. He'd checked it out as best he could and everything seemed okay—well, depending on one's definition of okay—everything seemed functional, anyway. Now he sat in the doorway of the main hatch, looking at the smaller _Savanna_ -class shuttle berthed next to them. It had a purple octopus painted on its nose, just above the name _Redwing_ … someone was confused, clearly, and he wasn't so sure it wasn't him.

The hangar was mostly deserted at this hour, aside from the supervisor who kept dropping by to give him a disapproving glare. He was pretty sure the man resented having to actually work this early. It was annoying him, and he couldn't have been happier to hear familiar voices approaching.

Upon arrival Sergeant Brown had escorted Keith to the ship, which was tucked away in a back berth next to a pair of short range shuttles. He paused at a distance and frowned slightly, studying it; he wasn't terribly familiar with the _Endeavor_ -class. It didn't appear to be anything special.

"Well… it's a ship."

Brown offered a sympathetic look, then startled slightly as he turned to look behind them. Keith followed his gaze and saw their pilot approaching.

"Hey, it's a party!" McClain winked at Brown, who stammered something that probably passed as a greeting. "Here she is, huh?"

"So it appears."

Circling around the ship they found their chief engineer sitting at the top of the boarding ramp. "Morning, Kogane." He nodded to Lance and arched an eyebrow at Brown. "Are we abducting someone? That seems like a bad start."

Keith chuckled. "Morning, Kleid."

"We could totally abduct the Sarge here," Lance smirked. "I like him."

"No abducting!" _Explorer Teams._ "He was just giving me a ride and showing me to the ship."

"She's easy enough to find," Flynn pointed out, "she's the one painted up like a pirate ship. You two need a rundown?"

It was hard not to grin a little at the pirate ship comment; the _Firecrown_ had been painted in bland gray primer and the patchwork mess common to low-budget spacefarers. It did make it look like a pirate ship. All it needed was a Jolly Roger on the side…

His second had asked a question and Keith decided it would be better to focus on that. "I could use one. McClain, have you ever flown this class before?"

"Once in training, I think? Maybe?" Lance shrugged. "Doesn't really matter though, I can fly anything."

 _No doubt_. "We'll see about that," Keith said softly, nodding. "So, Mr. Kleid, what's the status? Flyable?"

Lance side-eyed him, clearly unimpressed by the vote of confidence. Flynn broke in before he could say anything. "That's a word for it." He shook his head. "This thing's an interstellar puddle jumper. Nothing screams 'we have no idea what you're doing' like assigning an _Endeavor_."

"Not surprising, really." Glancing around he noted that Brown seemed to have made his getaway. "Well, let's see about having that grand tour."

"Yeah, introduce this girl to her soon to be favorite pilot!"

Their engineer smirked and stood, gesturing for them to follow. "The _Endeavor_ 's built for versatility." He keyed the code in for the inner hatch and started for the bridge. "It's very good at that, so naturally it's not good at anything else."

"Don't knock being versatile," Lance protested. "It's handy."

"Who's knocking it? Just don't want anyone to get unreasonable expectations."

"Will it get the job done?" Keith asked, frowning.

Shrug. "Ought to suffice. I mean, I'm none too certain what they expect two Shrieker missile tubes to do for us if we actually run into the Galra, but…" He looked at Lance and seemed to think better of continuing on that track, then stopped at a hatch. "Here's the bridge, go get acquainted or whatever you do."

Lance had thoughts on the missiles, but the bridge was of much more immediate interest. He went straight for the helm, studying the controls. Nothing fancy, pretty standard except for a manual thruster reset. No problem. "Oh yeah, I can make her fly like a dream." He dropped into the seat and almost immediately regretted it. _Well fuck._ "This seat is _not_ comfortable."

"This one either," the boss grimaced from the command chair behind him. "But it's what we have to work with for now."

"The seats aren't comfortable," Flynn muttered just loud enough for them to hear. "Flyboys are adorable."

"Damn right I'm adorable." Lance turned back to him and winked. "Maybe get me some cushions."

He rolled his eyes and smirked back. "Get your own, I'm not an interior decorator."

Keith coughed, none too subtly covering up a laugh. "You might have time to get them before we launch, McClain. But you'll have to be fast."

"That's a specialty."

"I'm sure." He stood carefully, not quite trusting the command chair… which apparently wasn't all wrong. As he stood it listed heavily to one side. "Well, this ought to be interesting."

His second mock-glowered. "Breaking my ship already, Kogane? I'll fix it later, come on."

"How old is this ship, anyway?" Keith followed him out into the main corridor, frowning back at the tilted seat. It was a minor problem, all told, but didn't seem like the best omen.

"Hull went down about sixty years ago, if you believe the documentation…" Flynn paused at the next door and made a face. "Crew quarters are right here behind the bridge, and I'm pretty certain someone got murdered in there at some point. On a related note, we have six passenger rooms."

Both of them snapped their heads up. "What?"

"Murdered? Is there blood?"

"How bad is it?"

Shrug. "It's either blood or hydraulic fluid, and I prefer to believe the last crew wasn't inept enough to spring a hydraulic leak in the _crew quarters_."

"Right." Keith hesitantly pushed the hatch open and gave a low whistle. There were four double bunks, with rusted and slightly bent frames and the typical flimsy foam mattresses. Most likely he wouldn't have trusted them anyway. But the dark red-tinged stain that had seeped permanently into the floor was not helping _anything_. "Maybe we could turn this into a conference room… after you've double checked to make sure there isn't a hydraulic leak."

This time the glower he got was a lot less amused. "What do you think I've been _doing_ here?"

"Your job," Keith retreated diplomatically. "Just making sure."

"Either way there's one hell of a story to tell there," Lance commented before Flynn could respond. "Maybe it's haunted." Keith blinked and turned, giving him an odd look; he grinned back. "Don't like ghost stories?"

"Trust me, McClain, you don't want a ghost on board." Some incidents back on the _Vesuvius_ , which he really would rather have forgotten about, helpfully sprang to the front of Keith's mind. "They can be a nightmare in running a ship…"

Flynn rolled his eyes, and Lance smirked. "Like being kept on my toes, boss."

 _Boss_. The word hit him hard and he hesitated. _That's what you are, you know. You're going to have to get used to it sooner or later._ For a moment he felt unmoored, then shook it off and turned back to his second. "Carry on, please, Mr. Kleid."

"Would you stop that 'Mr.' nonsense, Kogane?" Flynn started down the corridor again. "I'm not old enough."

Lance laughed and Keith sighed. "Very well."

_Explorer Teams. Again._

They turned a couple of corners, then stopped at a cross corridor. "Passenger rooms are here." Flynn gestured widely. "They're okay. Pack light." He started past.

"Not gonna show us around?"

"I'm not a real estate agent, either."

Keith snorted and gave the nearest room a quick peek. It was small, but the bed frame seemed to be in its proper shape and the floor was lacking in mysterious red stains. "Okay, I'll take your earlier recommendation. They'll do much better than the crew quarters will."

Flynn nodded, then stopped again as the corridor ended in a heavy bulkhead. "Okay, this part's important."

"Engine bay?"

"Not quite _that_ important." He keyed in the code once he had their full attention, stepping into a large and very empty room. "The cargo bay has full shielding, but no countermeasures. So it can't be scanned but anyone attempting it will know it can't be scanned." He gave Keith a pointed look. "This isn't a smuggling ship, it's intended more to keep signals in than out. You understand."

Keith understood. "Good to know." Certain ports would demand inspection of any cargo bay they couldn't scan—guilty until proven innocent. "And we'll look suspicious enough as it is." He turned to Lance, who didn't quite seem to be following the unspoken conversation. "Once we find what we're looking for, we may not want anyone getting too curious about what's in our cargo, especially if we can't explain it ourselves."

"If there's anything to find."

"True, but we have to plan for it. Avoiding any local inspectors, if necessary, will be on you."

Lance gave his cockiest smirk yet. "Piece of cake."

Past the cargo bay was another cross corridor. Flynn glanced down both ways with a slight frown. "Galley and cold storage are left, rec room and gym are right. Everything in the galley is functional. Gym is on the lower deck, it's pretty utilitarian, basic holo. Rec room…" Shrug. "There's couches."

That wasn't a ringing endorsement, though from the state of the ship so far Keith was surprised the gym had even basic holo. "What's the status on supplies? How much storage do we have?"

"Enough." Another shrug. "I think Garrett's taken the food requisitions on himself…"

"Oh has he?" Unexpected, but one less thing to worry about, Keith decided. "He does seem to enjoy dealing with food."

"Garrett knows his donuts," Lance said approvingly. "But I'm bringing some quality beer."

Flynn snorted. "Don't misfire on that one… _again_."

"At least I could tell it was terrible after I _tried it,_ Kleid. Won't make that mistake again, you'll see."

"Hey! What did we discuss about first name basis?"

 _Okay_ … Keith looked between the two of them and decided he really didn't want to know what all that was about. "Shall we continue?"

The last door had several bright red warning symbols stenciled on, which could only mean they'd finally reached the engine bay. It was a cluttered mess of girders and consoles, with four hatchways—presumably the engine shafts—set into the back wall. How anyone could function in such a mess was a mystery… but Flynn immediately seemed more animated.

"Engines are Aerojet Flash class 8, and much like the rest of this ship, they're suitable for everything and not actually good at anything. Except for _annoying me_."

The commander grimaced. "Engineering nightmare, then?"

"They are pretty high maintenance, and it's not even the fun kinds of maintenance." He shrugged and turned to face Lance. "Hybrid cycled-fuel chem rockets with a three stage firing pattern. They're all you get, no hyperspace thrusters."

Lance nodded his understanding. Ships intended for longer-range missions would have specialized engines for hyperspace operations, which had very different handling characteristics. Without them the _Firecrown_ would be comparatively slow between systems, but it wouldn't affect real space maneuvers. "I'll keep everything smooth on my end." He walked up to the nearest engine shaft and rested a hand on it; he could feel the faint vibration of its idle cycle. Really he was just eager to get this girl in the air and start learning all her quirks.

"Is that everything?" Keith asked, crossing his arms.

Flynn nodded. "I've run all the diagnostics… and an engine test fire that the bay supervisor didn't appreciate. She's not fancy, but she's ready to fly."

"Alright. I'm going to requisition some new mattresses for the passenger rooms… McClain, I guess you're free to go do your beer shopping."

"And _cushions_ ," Flynn smirked. "Have fun with that."

Lance snorted. Cushions were important! How hard could it be?

*****

_How hard could it be…_

Lance frowned. He stood in the pillow aisle, amazed at how many there were. How many different kinds of pillows did the world really need? He picked up a few, some were soft and some were hard. Some promised to remember your head position—whatever that meant. He sighed and stared. He liked soft pillows, maybe? He’d never given it much thought, he just wanted to be comfortable. That was the whole point of doing this—why the hell did he decide to do this?

"Can I help you?"

He turned to see a pretty brunette and instantly grinned his most disarming grin. "I’m in need of pillows."

"Feathered, cotton, memory foam?"

"Soft but durable?"

She pointed to a grouping on the bottom shelf. "Those might suit your needs."

Lance walked down and picked one up. He punched it a bit and nodded. "Yeah, these’ll do."

"Do you need cases?"

"Uh? Yeah… hadn’t thought about that, anything boring will do."

"Follow me," she said and walked to the next aisle. Lance followed behind her appreciatively. He chose the cheapest plain white pillow cases he could find, ordered ten of them and ten of the pillows, and had them delivered to the hangar. Then he laid on the charm a bit, found out her name was Annie and got her number and promised to call her.

He wasn't going to call her. Because his next stop was beer, and nothing was more important than that.

*****

The chief had called him in early; something about having to repurpose the crew quarters. Not that Hunk hadn't been planning to turn up early anyway, but now he couldn't impress the boss with his diligence. Which was completely fine. No sense setting too good a first impression. It tended to raise expectations.

It was easy enough to find the _Firecrown_ , and he waved as he caught sight of Flynn sitting in the main hatchway. "Yo, pit boss! What's shakin'?"

"Pit boss?" he repeated, bemused. "That's a new one."

"We're the pit crew, ain't we?" Grin. "Ready to do some interior decoratin'?"

That got him a raised eyebrow. "Funny, I specifically told the others I'm _not_ an interior decorator."

Hunk grinned. "What, you'd rather be knee deep in engine grease than pickin' out carpet?"

"Obviously?" Snort. "There had better not be _carpet_ involved in this."

If they'd had a little more time before takeoff, carpet would absolutely have been involved in this. Fuzzy pink carpet. He knew people. As it was, Hunk just chuckled and followed him through the hatch. "Damn shame. So what've we got?"

Flynn led him to the crew quarters, and he gave a low whistle at the mess. No _wonder_ they were remodeling. "Kogane wants a conference room." A small smirk crossed his lips. "How far can you throw one of these bunks?"

Was he serious? Did it matter? A question was a question. "I could totally nail that _Savanna_ nextdoor with a mattress," he offered cheerfully.

The chief considered that for a few seconds. "You're expecting me to tell you off for that."

"Kinda."

"I probably should." He crossed his arms and looked around the room. "But we are an Explorer Team and I don't _have to._ Let's see it."

…Oh, it was _on_.

*****

McClain wasn't the only one who wanted to make sure they had a decent alcohol selection…

Keith walked down the aisle of the liquor store, small cart in front of him, trying to decide what buy. He stopped by the whisky but found he wasn’t sure what to get. He scanned the shelves thinking and a cinnamon one caught his eye. Putting it in the cart, he turned to find the rum.

Lance stared at the beer and decided he liked too many beers. He wasn’t at all sure how to choose between them. He looked at one, then another. "Want a selection, can’t bring all of it? Nah, screw it." He grabbed a large pack of four different beers. They’d be well stocked. He threw them in his cart and started wandering the aisles. Maybe something else would jump out at him. Turning the corner of an aisle, he spotted a familiar face placing a bottle of rum into his cart.

"Hey, Boss, those are some odd mattresses."

Keith blinked at the sudden arrival and looked at his cart. "Um...the mattresses should be delivered to the hangar within the hour." He looked at the beer in Lance's cart. "Funny looking cushions."

"I did say I was getting beer too…" He took a good look at Keith’s cart and was impressed, maybe he’d be more fun than Lance’s first impression. "You sharing that whisky?"

"Do I need to?" Keith raised his eyebrow with a slight grin.

"Hey, I always share my beer."

"No offense, but… I’m not a big fan of wheat juice with only about 5% alcohol."

Lance laughed hard at that. "You just haven’t been properly educated… I guess I’ll have to run a beer school. Or, just more for me."

"Only if you’re planning on cleaning up afterwards. I really don’t like any beer. And I’ve tried a few… so more for you then."

Lance scrunched his nose in distaste about cleaning up, though he wasn’t planning on making messes. He watched Keith pick up two more bottles off a shelf: Amaretto and brandy.

"I think that should do it."

Lance glanced at their two carts and grinned. "We’re gonna have the best stocked bar in space. Knew I was gonna love being on an Explorer Team."

Keith grinned. "No, if we were going to have a bar I’d buy the store, but we don’t have that kind of room. But this should at least hold me over until we back here. Sipping drinks."

"Best way to spend downtime, which I think we’ll have a lot of."

"Seems like we will…" Keith looked Lance up and down, remembering his file. "So, I understand you’ve been trying to beat my times."

"Trying? No, I’ve beaten more than one, damn sure I can beat them all."

Keith wasn’t sure how to take Lance’s confidence, and took a harder look at him. "Which ones? I know I didn’t lose any time for crash landings."

Lance laughed, it was all he could do, and he looked Keith, thinking again his first impression may have been a bit off. But he found he didn’t want to give him any information—plus it wasn’t like Keith didn’t have it on hand, being the commander. "You can read, right, Boss? It’s all in my file. What they call reckless flying tends to be fast."

"You’re an… interesting individual." Keith arched his brow at him, assessing.

"I’m fucking fascinating, Boss." Lance raised his eyebrow right back at him and found himself going back to his previous impression. Keith Kogane was a strange man.

Keith turned suddenly and started heading to the front of the store. Lance followed, deciding that meant they were checking out. At the checkout Keith reached into Lance’s cart and put it all with his own order. Which was fine with Lance, he liked keeping his money. Keith looked at him and shrugged.

"Figure I should at least buy the beer for the man who beat a couple of my times."

"Gonna owe me more any day now," Lance grinned.

"I only buy once." Keith smirked, holding up one finger. "After that, it would be too much like a date and… well, I don’t date my co-workers." He turned away quickly. _Why did I just say that? I’m his damn commanding officer. Maybe he’ll drop it._

Lance looked Keith up and down with a cocky grin. "Too bad, I’m a great date."

Keith swore his face was on fire. _Not dropping it, so I’d better…_ "We’d better head back to the ship," he said to change to the subject.

"Good plan. Pillows should’ve been delivered, they’ll be with your mattresses. Got my beer. Life’s good."

Keith nodded. "And we have a takeoff slot to make."

*****

Jace had never served aboard a ship before, other than for transit. With his old unit, they'd envied—and, of course, roundly mocked—the medics up in orbit in their shiny transport ships with their shiny full hospital facilities. The grunts on the ground made do with half-assed field hospitals. He'd prided himself on his ability to rough it, but he'd also kind of been looking forward to _not_ having to do that on this run. Sure the _Firecrown_ wasn't a large ship, but it should at least have a decent clean room.

The one silver lining of an Explorer Team, right?

Wrong!

"What do you mean there's not a sick bay? How the fuck can there _not be a sick bay?_ "

He probably wasn't yelling at the right person; Garrett had been overseeing some cargo being loaded when he'd turned up to check things out. Now the huge engineer just shrugged helplessly. "I didn't design the thing, bro!"

"Well _that's_ a relief."

"Everyone's got their own room—HEY, dude, watch that box, keep it upright!—so maybe it won't matter much, yeah?"

Scowl. "Yeah, sure. That'll work just fantastic when I need a sterile environment to dig a bullet out of your guts."

"Uh." For the first time Garrett looked entirely away from the cargo team. "How's 'bout we just hope that doesn't happen? Ain't a combat mission, remember?"

Jace gave an impatient sigh. "Hope doesn't save lives, dumbass. Where's the chief?"

"Doin' diplomacy with a ship nextdoor that might've gotten one of our mattresses stuck in its landing gear." Pause. "He didn't design the thing either."

"I know _that_." Blink. "Wait, a mat… no, never mind. Don't want to know."

"Kinda gettin' the feeling you're right."

It was hard to tell if that had been an insult. Jace covered his bases by scowling anyway. "Okay, fine. Where's the galley? There's at least a galley, right?"

That got him a very odd look. "Course there is? Cold storage ain't sterile though, and it's gonna be kinda full. If it's that desperate we can rig up somethin' in the cargo bay—"

"—I didn't mean that!" He might kill this guy before the maple bacon donuts could do it. "I'm going to have plenty of free time until you people start getting yourselves hurt, figured I'd do the cooking."

Garrett brightened. "You like cooking?"

 _I'm going to regret answering this, aren't I?_ "Yes…"

"Awesome! We can compare notes." A huge grin spread over his face. "Galley is right past the cargo bay, can't miss it. Once I'm done out here I can come show ya around, I brought some kickin' extras. Murder pepper sauce!"

 _Porra_ … "Whatever you say, dude." It seemed like a really good time to get the hell out of here. Grabbing his own gear, he headed for the main hatch, shaking his head in annoyance. At least things were going exactly as well as he'd expected.

*****

Sven pinched the bridge of his nose. Command had obviously just had a computer chart their course. No sane navigator would willingly chose this route, it took them straight through Drozanian territory.

Drozan was an alien planet deep in the Rim. They kept to themselves, and were considered ‘peaceful’, they were just a tad… paranoid. Between the large blockade around their planet, and randomly positioned hyperspace mines and interdiction fields, it wasn’t very bright to travel through. Especially when you weren't broadcasting yourself as Galaxy Alliance. And if an actual _navigator_ had charted this, instead of a computer, he wouldn’t have to recalculate.

It was taking him longer than he’d like, and he might have been able to do it faster but he could feel them watching him. Lieutenant McClain and Commander Kogane were waiting on him to make adjustments so they could launch.

McClain had made his impatience known. Several times.

It wasn't as if recreating a hyperspace route was _easy_. It wasn’t just drawing a line from one point on the map to another. Multiple factors had to be assessed. Hill spheres and possible mass shadows had to be taken into account. The when and where of the multiple waypoints also had to be calculated. The sheer amount of math was staggering. He was not a magician; these things took a little time.

Double checking his math and new route options in the computer, Sven finally finished with a happy sigh of relief.

"Are you almost finished, Viking?" Lance asked impatiently. Sven was slightly confused at the nickname but chose to ignore it.

"Yes." He turned to Keith. "There are two new route options, one will add a few days, possibly a week to the trip, but is overall a safe trip." As safe as a trip to the Rim could be, anyways. "The other is faster and will actually shave a week off but requires real space navigation through an asteroid field."

"Asteroid field, you say?" Lance grinned, and Keith shot him a mildly disapproving look before turning to the comms. He really didn't want to add a week to their trip, but…

"Kleid? What is our shield status?"

Flynn was entirely preoccupied double checking—well, it was more like quintuple checking at this point—weight calculations and decision speed. The half-registered question was an unwelcome distraction. "We're still on the _ground_ , Kogane, they're fine."

"Pit boss," Hunk spoke up from the auxiliary console, "think he mighta been goin' for something more like 'are they any good at what they do'…"

That won him a startled look. "Oh. Right."

"Can they handle multiple asteroid impacts?" Keith asked, apparently oblivious to his second's obliviousness.

Now Flynn glowered at the comms just on principle. "Just what do you think an asteroid is? _No_."

Keith sighed at the response, though Lance was looking more than slightly offended. " _I'd_ like the challenge of an asteroid field."

 _I'm sure you would_. "Mr. Holgersson, add a week to the trip. We can't risk getting stranded."

Sven nodded. "Yes sir."

"No fun, Kogane," Lance grumbled.

"There's a time and a place for fun. We have to complete our mission."

"Good thing I brought beer, we're gonna be bored."

Keith opted not to dignify that with a response, turning his attention to Sven entering his data into the nav computer. Finally he looked up and nodded. "We're all set on my end, sir."

"Excellent." He flipped the comms over to the control frequency as the other two settled into their seats. "This is the _Firecrown_ , Control. Request permission for takeoff and outbound clearance of the system."

The response came quickly. "Clearance granted, _Firecrown_. You're in line after the _Flaregrazer_. Have a safe flight."

"Thank you, Control." Switching back to internal comms he noted the grin on Lance's face and wondered if it should worry him. "Kleid, bring the engines online."

A dull roar erupted somewhere behind them, and the ship shuddered. "Engines firing!"

"Mr. McClain, take us out nice and easy."

Lance's grin widened as the controls came to life, humming in time with the engines. "Nice and easy? Sure, boss." He winked and started the ship out of the hangar—not without a little gratuitous burst of acceleration, of course. He was pretty sure he could see the hangar supervisor glaring as they rocketed onto the taxiway.

The _Flaregrazer_ was either a _Derecho_ or a _Skyhook_ class—it was near impossible to tell them apart from the outside—painted up in Andromeda Vanguard colors. Keith studied it with interest as it finished taxiing and began its takeoff run. He enjoyed watching ships launch, wondering where they were off to, what missions they had in store.

 _What does_ our _mission have in store?_

"Come on, _Flaregrazer_ ," Lance muttered, "you call that speed?" He was tapping the controls impatiently, and Keith couldn't fully suppress a grin.

"Hey, at least it ain't leavin' any wake turbulence like that," Hunk pointed out cheerfully. "Oughta be smooth as a smoothie!"

Nobody seemed inclined to respond to that, which was probably for the best. Finally, the _Flaregrazer_ was clear, and Lance punched it.

"Nice and easy," Flynn muttered under his breath, amused. He grabbed his console to steady himself, eyes locked on the speed gauges, listening to the engines roar.

"Time to fly!"

A second burst of acceleration brought the gauges into the green, and he couldn't hold back a grin of his own. He hadn't done an aerodyne launch since the Academy. "V1!"

"WOOOOHOOOOOOO!" Lance's yell rang over the comms as they lifted off, along with… a dramatic guitar riff? Flynn looked back at Hunk, who held up his datapad and gave a thumbs-up before returning his attention to his console.

Shaking his head, he turned his own focus back to the speed gauges. "Positive rate." Their climb angle was steep, steeper than any atmosphere-bound aircraft would ever dare. "Brace yourselves, second stage incoming."

"Okay, get ready, gonna start going _fast_ ," Lance translated to the others on the bridge—maybe unnecessarily, but he was caught up in the feel of everything, the speed of flight. Pushing the throttles up he eased the engines into their second stage, the new burst of acceleration rocking the ship. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sven grabbing his monitor and looking more than a bit disconcerted.

Their chief engineer was not disconcerted; he was laughing as he called over the comms. "That all you got, flyboy?"

"Oh, you want more, grease monkey?" Like hell he'd pass _that_ up. With a wicked smirk he punched the throttles to full.

"Dude!" Hunk blasted another guitar riff over the comms as the acceleration nearly knocked him off his feet. On the other side of the bay, Flynn was grinning like mad, listening to the engines screaming up to full power.

"That's better!"

Keith was clinging to his seat, swallowing hard as he felt the ship shudder from its own speed. _Please don't fall apart in the atmosphere…_

Next to him Sven seemed to share the sentiment; he was whispering what sounded like a prayer in Norwegian. There was some irony in that—Keith knew from his file their navigator, of all people, had never actually been off Earth—but he was in no real condition to attempt to be reassuring right now himself.

"Thirty seconds 'til we're out of atmosphere," Hunk called out. That was followed by an explosion of sound. Keith and Sven exchanged nervous glances, but before real panic could set in it became evident that the noise wasn't their hull disintegrating around them. It was a heavy metal version of Ride of the Valkyries blasting over the comms, because why wouldn't it be?

Lance burst into hysterical laughter.

With one last shuddering lurch, the _Firecrown_ escaped atmosphere. Immediately the g-forces eased, and the other two on the bridge started breathing normally again. Lance spun in his seat and winked at Keith. "We've launched, boss. Nice and easy."

The commander just stared at him for a very long moment. "…We've launched, yes. Get us on our exit vector for the system and let's get this mission started."

"On it." Still smirking, he started maneuvering for the exit vector, taking careful note of the ship's handling quirks. Behind him he heard Keith whisper under his breath.

"Explorer Teams…"

*****

Despite the unfamiliar surroundings of the Castle of Lions, Larmina was doing something very familiar: sitting in her bedroom and sulking. It was a well-honed skill at this point. So when she heard footsteps approaching she turned to glower at the door almost automatically.

This time the footsteps were actually here for her; Princess Allura poked her head in the door. "Hello."

"Oh… hi." Larmina stopped glaring; friendly faces were few and far between here, no sense glaring at one of the few.

Allura glanced around, then stepped into the room. "How's the settling in?"

"It's not great." She scowled and shook her head. "I got yelled at for unpacking my own bags. It's 'not ladylike' or something."

There was no way Allura could resist chuckling at that, though she covered her mouth to try to hide it. "Have you had a tour of the castle yet?"

"No." Larmina brightened. "You mean I'm actually going to be allowed out of my room?"

Now she giggled openly. "Yes… if you're going to be a guest here, I must give you a tour of my wonderful home. Also…" She moved closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I must confess, Nanny wants to test me on something I'm very well versed in."

Guest. Larmina kept being called a guest, but so far she felt more like a prisoner. She stood, tilting her head, and whispered back, "Nanny? A nanny gives you tests?"

"She loves to make sure that I'm the most proper princess ever. So… I feel it would be ever so _rude_ if I don't make sure you know where everything is."

Oh boy. "She sounds… lovely. But a tour really does sound fun." She gestured widely. "This place is so… I don't know…" _Big Fat Arusian Castle._ She was pretty sure she couldn't say that out loud.

"Formal?" Allura offered with a crooked grin. "To the extremes? Yes. That's thanks to Nanny."

"Now she sounds _really_ lovely." A sinking feeling was gathering in the pit of her stomach. "She's not the one I'm here to uh, 'learn from', is she?"

Allura didn't exactly answer that. She just gave her best _we are doomed_ look and changed the subject. "So how about we start from the bottom up? I know a great shortcut that could be useful."

Larmina looked at her expression, and a slow grin spread over her face. Maybe someone around here really wasn't so bad. "…Lead on, Auntie!"

"Staff elevators and stairs are the fastest," the princess explained, striding down the hall. Larmina rushed along as quickly as she could in the swishy skirt she was currently stuck in. "Avoid the northern one, Nanny likes to use that one the most."

It was definitely sounding like Nanny-dodging would be the most important skill she learned here. "That doesn't sound very ladylike either." Grin. "I like it."

The elevator moved quickly, bringing them to a huge set of doors—even bigger than the main manor doors back home, but they weren't so ornate. There were all kinds of strange noises and crashes coming from behind it. It didn't seem to fit in with the rest of the castle… she followed Allura off the elevator and looked at the doors with wide eyes.

"This is the belly of the castle… what truly makes it work." Allura nodded to the doors. "Beyond those doors is the royal workshop. Master craftsmen, mechanics, whatever others you might need… no matter what it is, they can fix it." She pushed the doors open and led her in.

The workshop was massive; Larmina had never seen anything like it. She couldn't even identify much of what was being worked on. It was all mysterious and all _fascinating_. "I like it here already," she whispered, trying to look everywhere at once.

Allura smiled, pointing to a thin man in a blue apron standing by the far wall. "Over there is Danor, he oversees everything here. If you need help, he's the one to see." She lowered her voice. "He loves red wine, so if you can find some for him, he can put a rush on any project you might give him."

 _Oh really?_ "If I find a lot, will he let me just hang out here and watch? If I don't get caught."

The princess chuckled. "If things are quiet, he might even teach you something."

Now that sounded promising. Larmina grinned, already making smuggling plans in the back of her mind. Maybe she was stuck in a Big Fat Arusian Castle, but her mother _had_ promised to stay in touch…

Leaving the workshop they came to another set of doors; this time Allura poked her head in first to make sure the coast was clear. "We have to be careful here, this is what Nanny prides herself on the most. She may be a tough governess, but she can run a kitchen like no one else."

Aha. Larmina nodded, whispering under her breath. "Here we have the habitat of the wild Nanny, a native life form known for her ability to terrorize Princesses and Ladies…" Okay, so cheesy nature holos were a guilty pleasure.

Allura choked on a laugh. "Looks like we can sneak in." They slipped in the door. "This is the main kitchen, where all the regular meals are made, and… oooh, I see what I want after dinner."

No stranger herself to large royal kitchens, Larmina again found herself feeling totally out of her depth. She followed her cousin's gaze from elaborate cakes to huge roasts to… "What is that?"

"I… I'm not sure." Allura studied the wiggly green dish and wrinkled her nose. "But I'm sure I'll have to eat it anyway, and fake liking it." Sigh. "Dessert is worth it… dessert is worth it."

At least some things weren't so different here. "Dessert is always worth it," Larmina agreed through the giggles, and they moved on.

Wherever they were going next took them through the staff quarters. Auntie waved to several of the maids and guards, explaining that she was giving a tour. Nodding beside her, Larmina just hoped _not_ to run into the guard who'd told her off for unpacking her own bags… but they made it through to a service staircase with no incident.

"We'll come out by the Receiving Hall," Allura explained. "Which reminds me, add whatever cushioning you can to your shoes if you're going to be in the receiving line… your heels _will_ hurt by the end of it."

"Receiving lines?" Larmina repeated, grimacing bitterly. "I thought I was just here to learn to be a pretty little trophy wife. Though I guess that's part of it, huh?"

Allura turned and looked at her sadly. "This is the royal life. It can have its perks… and then there are parts even I don't fully understand. But my father and I hope to change that."

 _Oh really? Probably won't help me any, though._ "I hope you do." Sigh. "Sorry, I shouldn't complain about advice. Cushion the shoes, got it."

They came to an ornate set of doors, and Allura pushed them open. "Here. One day, not just heads of state will come through here…"

The Receiving Hall was something. The gilded doors hadn't been an exception, apparently they'd been the rule. Intricate molding and gold leaf were everywhere, and the marble floor was polished so brilliantly it nearly glowed. "It's very… shiny," she whispered, wide-eyed.

"Oh, you think this is shiny?" Allura grinned and took her hand, rushing her to the next room. The Royal Ballroom, currently fully set up for a ball. It was everything the Receiving Hall was and more. " _This_ is shiny." Looking at Larmina's stunned expression, she smiled and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You think the crystal and mirrors are a bit much?"

"I think… yeah… just a little…" A dozen huge chandeliers cast such brilliant light through the room she couldn't even make out all the ornamentation. "You actually have real balls in here? Without everyone going blind?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it? But I shouldn't complain. I love balls… the music, the dancing… much better than standing in one place for hours." She took a few steps out onto the floor, twirling and letting her dress billow out around her. "This is for a small event coming up, a meeting with some neighboring kingdoms."

Oh, as if she hadn't been feeling far enough out of her depth before… Larmina cursed under her breath. "This is for a _small_ event?!"

"Yes… for big events, we use this level and the one above us. And just beyond this is where Nanny may lean on you the most…" Leaving the ballroom, they entered another room that was nearly as large. But instead of crystal and mirrors, there was a long table of polished goldenwood set with delicate silver filigree. "The formal dining room."

"Whoa…" Larmina tried to picture what it must be like in here when all the chairs were occupied, then remembered what her aunt had said about the kitchen. "…gonna guess this Nanny doesn't like it if you eat her food improperly."

"Manners, manners, manners…" Allura pitched her voice lower, a sharply judgmental look coming over her face. "A Proper Princess sits straight up! No sagging of those shoulders!" Larmina giggled. "A Proper Princess doesn't push food about her plate! A Proper Princess—"

"—doesn't sneak grapes out for the local wildlife?"

Now Allura giggled, then sighed and turned away from the table. "I'm sure she means well. After all, my behavior is representative of my status. But she's like this even when I'm just with family alone." She headed back for the main hallway, shaking that off. "Still more to see!"

 _That sounds awful_ , Larmina mused as she rushed to catch up. At least her mother let her be herself _sometimes_ , even if she had dumped her off at this ridiculous castle… "How big is this place?"

"Hmmmmm…" Her aunt paused, studying a few paintings of what looked like some ancient knights. "Pretty good size. I haven't been to every castle on Arus, of course, and I know some provinces pride themselves on having castles grander than the High King's. But still, we're quite large. We may skip a few areas today…" She started walking again, turning a corner. "After all, we do have this number to climb."

The Grand Staircase of the Castle of Lions lived up to its name without question. The stairs themselves were polished granite from the distant Moongrave Cliffs, brown with flecks of brilliant gold and red crystal. They were wide enough for a dozen knights in full armor to walk side by side, framed by banisters of intricately carved goldenwood. And they rose up some thirty feet from the floor, all but daring anyone to actually scale them with any sort of dignity.

"We're going up those?" Larmina asked from behind her. "Now?"

"Nope." Allura laughed at the wonder in the girl's voice. "I'll show you to the elevator, leave this monster for major events. Thankfully, it's the only one this—"

"—Oh there's no need for that, Auntie." There was a sly smirk on Larmina's face as she stepped up next to her, hiking her skirt. "I'll race you!"

Without even waiting for a response she was off, sprinting up the stairs two at a time.

Oh was that how she wanted to play it? "I accept that challenge!" Laughing, Allura ran after her. Larmina was fast, but she wasn't used to anything quite like these stairs; about a third of the way from the top the princess bypassed her. Even as she did so she could sense the other girl redoubling her efforts, nearly keeping pace, and when she reached the top she couldn't help but still be chuckling. "At last! A worthy challenger for stair racing."

Larmina stumbled up the last step and paused a moment, catching her breath. "That is… a pretty big staircase…" A huge smile split her face, the first one Allura had seen this whole time. "It's awesome!"

"Indeed." She turned, smiling herself. "And the view is impressive." From the top, the whole of the grand entrance hall was visible in all its royal splendor… and beyond it, two high windows that looked out over the glittering moat and the lush fields beyond.

"…It really is," Larmina agreed in a hushed voice. She was reaching about the limit of her ability to take new things in all at once, but she was certain she wasn't at all done with things she needed to take in. She wasn't wrong.

Allura led her past what seemed like countless security, staff, and conference rooms, to the throne room—it was subdued and regal, a stark contrast to pretty much everything else in the castle—and then to the secondary kitchen—good for small orders and raiding, run by somebody named Ducky, of all things—and finally to a large, ornately framed picture of a lion that swung open to reveal another staircase behind it.

"…Did we just walk through a painting?"

"Yep… in time, I can show you where every secret doorway is here."

Now _there_ was something to really look forward to. "I'd like that."

They reached the top of the stairway, and the princess pushed another door open with a smile. "This is the best place in the castle. Welcome to where I truly call home."

Larmina blinked, coming up beside her to see what looked like children's toys strewn through the hallway—blocks, a ball, a couple of plastic starships. It looked so out of place… "Where _are_ we?"

"We're on the royal floor, our private part of the castle." Allura smiled. "My brother is making a mess again… oh l'il lion!" she called out in the direction of one of the doors, chuckling. "There are things in the hallway!"

A growl that reminded Larmina of one of the manor hounds came from the doorway. "Um."

"He loves the tales of the lions. Likes to imagine he's the Black Lion."

 _Black Lion?_ She wanted to ask about that, but she was fully at her limit of what she could absorb. Later. Besides, before she could have gotten the question out a small boy appeared from the doorway, lugging a stuffed lion in one hand and trying to clean up the toys with the other. Larmina giggled; he was cute.

He noticed her then, and stiffened. She smiled. "Hey there…"

"Lady Larmina, I would like to introduce my brother, Prince Tanner."

 _Oh_. Her eyes widened, and she made a valiant attempt at a curtsy. "It's nice to meet you."

"Hi," the boy said with a shy smile. "It's nice to meet you too… um, sis?" As he looked to his sister, Larmina couldn't help another small giggle at his attention span, or lack thereof. "Can you do something for me?"

"Oh?" Allura grinned. "What is it?"

"Don't tell Nanny about the apple cores in Daddy's room. Me and Cheddar were having snacks there." And with that he ran off, stuffed lion in tow.

"…Oh, you…" Allura pressed a palm to her forehead, but she was still grinning. "Well, he is a kid."

"He's cute." Larmina tilted her head. "Who's Cheddar?"

At that the princess blushed slightly. "Cheddar is a space mouse. They live here, so… a fair warning, if you hear a squeak, that's where it's coming from."

Space mice didn't seem like anything to blush about. "You have mice? Back at home we have bats. And mice are just wingless bats, so I think we'll get along fine." She closed her eyes, exhaling. Much as she'd wanted to get out of her room earlier, right now a little time to recharge sounded amazing. "Do you think… I could go back to my room? This is a lot to take in."

Allura looked at her with a sympathetic smile, and nodded. "Can you get back?"

"I think so. Thank you, Auntie." Hesitantly she reached out and gave Allura's hand a quick squeeze.

A second later she found herself ambushed by a hug. "I'm glad you're here, Larmina."

Startled, she looked up and tried to figure out how to respond to that. She certainly wasn't happy to _be_ here. But if she had to be here, at least… "I'm glad you're here too," she said quietly.

Grin. "Then I'll see you later."

She nodded, grinning back. "Later, Auntie!" She turned, heading down the stairs… and broke into a run the moment she was out of sight. Just on principle.

_Maybe I'll manage…_

Allura watched Larmina go, a small smile lingering on her lips. It was good to have someone near her age in the castle, even if the adjustment was clearly going to be a process. Hopefully she'd be able to get comfortable here in time. Turning a little, she noticed two beady bright eyes peering out from underneath one of the hall tables. "Cheddar…"

The mouse gave a squeak that was more than a little bit guilty.

"You'd better not have ground the apple cores into the carpet!"

Another squeak, and the mouse darted away, with Allura in hot pursuit. Nanny would've been mortified… and here, that was okay.


	4. Looking Forward

So far, Hunk was thoroughly enjoying himself.

He was on the tail end of his first shift, and nothing too exciting had happened—not that he'd expected it to. The ship wasn't fancy but she was solid. With only two engineers aboard they would usually be swapping twelve hour shifts, meaning he would be spending most of his waking hours alone with a bay full of tools and loud music. That was _exactly_ how he liked it.

Truthfully, he'd lost track of time. Who could watch the clock while jamming out, really?

"Gotta break it down, man, you're all out of luck!" He strummed an epic power chord on the wrench he was holding as he went in for the finale. "Cuz you're totally wasted and I don't give a—"

"—HUNK!"

He jumped and whirled around, only to find the chief standing mere inches behind him; backing away with a startled yelp he crashed to the floor. "Dude! Don't gotta yell, pit boss!"

Flynn flipped the speakers off and looked down at him with a bemused half-smile. "I tried not yelling. Repeatedly." He held out a hand to help him up. "Keep the _noise_ down and I won't have to nearly kill you to get your attention. You alright?"

"Dude, that's Lemon Zinger Cult. How can you not like Lemon Zinger Cult?" Hunk shot him a mock pout and clambered to his feet, waving off the hand; not out of spite or anything, he'd just yanked more than enough well-meaning crewmates down on top of him in similar situations.

It didn't seem to bother the chief. He was focused somewhere else, in any case. "It's not the band, it's the decibels! Honestly. How can you even hear yourself think?"

Hunk snorted. "What makes you think I'm doin' any of that? Playin' babysitter in here doesn't take a whole ton of thinking, yeah?" Grin. "I kinda try to avoid it as much as I can, anyway."

Usually that got people off his case quick enough. Nobody was inclined to question it. Of _course_ Big Dumb Hunk liked to avoid thinking; after all, it couldn't be a strength.

Flynn narrowed his eyes slightly, and it was immediately apparent he wasn't buying it. "Not while you're working with the explosives, I hope."

"Heh." Okay, so there was the one complication. "I'm a man of few but epic talents, pit boss."

"No doubt…" That searching look didn't waver, and Hunk didn't like it one bit. "You know I've read your file, right?"

Well hell. People actually read those? Hunk paused, matching his serious look for a moment. "Everyone needs a hobby, Chief."

_Make whatever you want of that._

For what felt like it was probably another twelve hours, they just stared at each other. _What's his deal?_ Of course he was probably thinking the same thing. As long as he didn't expect an answer.

It was the chief who backed down. "…Okay, anything going on in here that I should know about? You didn't rattle any components out of place with your lemon cult?"

Whew. "Lemon _Zinger_ Cult." _Yeah let's keep our priorities straight here_. "Uh, the number five maneuvering thruster threw a fuel line error about three hours out. I checked it, nothin' wrong with the line, think it's gotta be a system glitch. Not my gig."

Nod. "I'll have a look, you're clear. See you next change."

"Seeya in twelve, pit boss." Hunk shot him a thumbs-up and headed out, still feeling a little uncomfortable. Life was so much simpler when people just believed the Big Dumb Hunk narrative and didn't give him funny looks about it.

_Eh, not like we're gonna see much of each other anyway, I hope_. So he'd been thrown a little, no big. He could deal. Dealing was his specialty.

Nothing plenty of Lemon Zinger Cult couldn't fix.

*****

Flynn watched the other engineer leave, a thoughtful frown creeping over his face. He _seemed_ benign enough…

It was hard not to be on edge around him to begin with. Flynn himself was used to being the biggest person in any given room—it ranged from mildly amusing to mildly irritating, but either way he was _accustomed_ to it. Hunk had several inches and about a hundred pounds on him, and that was simply outside his normal context. It was only natural to be a little unnerved.

Then, somewhat more to the point, there was the fact that he'd broken his commander's jaw on his last assignment…

Of course the circumstances that had led to that weren't going to be repeated here, but getting on the big guy's good side early had seemed like a wise play just in case. And now here they were, and all he seemed to _have_ were good sides. Unexpected. But Flynn couldn't bring himself to be as reassured by that as he could've been.

Something about Hunk was not _right_. He couldn't have played up the 'idiot who's handy with bombs' angle harder if he'd bashed it in with a sledgehammer. And yet…

_An idiot who happens to be handy with bombs doesn't have a file full of perfect Academy assessments._

_An idiot who happens to be handy with bombs_ definitely _doesn't get posted to an Explorer Team._

He didn't like it. Not one bit. But there wasn't much he could do about it, either. As long as Hunk stayed friendly and did his job, Flynn could deal with being unsettled. They shouldn't be spending much time together anyways… and he was just fine with that.

*****

Sven came off his first shift completely spent; guiding the ship was rewarding, no doubt, but it was also exhausting. His piloting cross training was enough for a bridge shift with such a small team, but it wasn't exactly his greatest skill. He'd been thrilled to begin eight hours ago, and now he was thrilled to be _finished_.

Now he just needed something to eat. He'd earned it, after all. Heading for the galley and opening a cupboard, he found…

_Hmm? What's this?_

Three neat stacks of sandwiches greeted him. They were carefully wrapped and labeled, with a note at the top of the center stack, though the labels were what drew most of Sven's attention.

… _Are those nutritional facts?_

Frowning, he took the note, which was scribbled in bold but barely-legible cursive.

**Chicken. Ham. PBJ. Eat up, I do NOT want to be treating anyone for malnutrition. No excuses.**

**-JCG**

Sven stared at the note as if he expected its contents to change, then shook his head. It could only be their grouchy medic. _Jace, wasn't it? How… thoughtful, if weirdly aggressive._ He wasn't entirely sure he trusted them, but why not? He was hungry, the food was here, and who was he not to follow the doctor's orders? He grabbed one of the chicken sandwiches and headed out, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite as he walked.

_Huh. These_ are _pretty good._

There was a table in the galley, but he opted for the rec room instead. At least there he'd be able to relax a bit and eat in peace, assuming the sandwich lasted that long. As he walked in he took another huge bite, about half a second before realizing the room wasn't empty. Someone was slouched on one of the couches, tapping away at his datapad.

Sven blinked, looking at the sandwich in his hands, then back at Jace—he was pretty certain it was Jace, anyway. The medic had glanced up as he entered, so he raised the sandwich and made a noise of appreciation.

_This_ is _a way for people to show appreciation, as long as it isn't a political function, right? Of course it is!_

"…What are you doing, you barbarian."

Or not. He lowered the sandwich frowning slightly. _What? Is he a vegetarian? That doesn't make sense if…_ he swallowed. "Dr. Gregory, right? Didn't you make these?"

Snort. "That's Dr. Jace to you, dude who's inhaling a sandwich while walking around." He made a gesture that was somewhere between a salute and a wave, then motioned to one of the chairs. "I made 'em and I'd like you not to choke on them. Sit."

It seemed to Sven he'd been told to sit an awful lot already this mission. But it was what he'd come in here for, so he sat. "It's delicious. The little nutritional facts threw me off for a moment. It made them look like something you’d get out of a vending machine."

Jace stared at him, scandalized. "Vending machine? You _are_ some kind of barbarian, aren't you? Do you know what's _in_ those things, Holgersson?" Then he hesitated, confident demeanor lapsing briefly. "Uh, you are Holgersson right?"

Blink. "Yes, that's me. Are you referring to your sandwiches or the ones in vending machines?"

"The ones in vending machines, dumbass. You know what's in mine, assuming you read the labels." He rolled his eyes and sat up a little straighter. "Just try to eat like a civilized person, would you? The less you people keep me busy with my real job, the more time I'll have to make sandwiches."

Sven frowned. "I am capable of walking and chewing at the same time."

"Okay, fine." The medic shrugged. "But if I ever have to give you mouth to mouth you'll lose some teeth, fair enough?"

_Geez_. "So, your bedside manner is a primary reason for you being assigned here?" Immediately after he said it he flinched; he hadn't meant it quite like that. _Not everyone is as happy to be here as you are_ …

To his surprise Jace seemed to take that in stride, just rolling his eyes again. "Never heard that before. My job is saving asses, not kissing them."

_Boy, is_ that _close to home._ "One is _far_ preferable to the other, that I can assure you."

"That sounds like the voice of experience. Don't forget protection."

Sven eyed him over the sandwich. "My parents are in some serious political circles. There's all sorts of butt kissing I've been exposed to." He took another bite. "Both with and without protection."

That got him a sympathetic grimace. "Oh, dude. Political types are bad enough without having to _live_ with 'em. My condolences."

On one hand, sympathy from this guy seemed like a rare occasion. On the other, Sven was pretty sure he'd just insulted his parents, and his tone became a bit defensive. "My _parents_ are fine. It's their… friends… I don't like."

"Eh, either way." The grimace turned into a searching look. "But dude, if you've got connections what the hell are you doing here in the dumping grounds?"

Midway through his next bite, Sven paused and mumbled, "Those connections have connections."

Jace arched an eyebrow.

"…I upset a friend of the family with brutal honesty."

A small smirk crossed over the medic's face, and his dark eyes sparked with something that might actually have been new respect. "Gotta admit, I did not see that coming."

"It's his own fault." Sven scowled, briefly forgetting the sandwich as the annoyance flooded back. "He wants to make nice in Norwegian politics, but he's got a small problem that won't go ignored by the press. I tried to tell him as delicately as possible, but he insisted I was out to ruin his reputation."

Now Jace looked fully interested. "Dude, what're you skating around it for _now?_ You're already in the dumpster, what'd you tell him?"

Well, why not? It was a fair point. "His name—his last name—is also a very vulgar term for genitalia in some Norwegian dialects." Jace burst into hysterical laughter; he kept going. "All I said was he may want to consider an alias. He said I was trying to make him look bad…" Shrug. "Apparently he was a lot angrier about it than I thought."

With what looked like some effort, the medic fought down the laughter. "Sounds like he's gonna get what he deserves then." He grinned. "Also sounds like it couldn't happen to a nicer prick."

"Well, what's going to happen is he's going to go to Norway and receive all the press he ever wanted…" Sven snickered. "…from none of the circles he was aiming for."

Jace snickered too, then rolled his eyes again. "At least _your_ jackass'll get his."

_Hmm_. "The opportune moment is still evading yours?"

Scowl. "Short of a hot war breaking out with the Drules, and even I'm not pissed enough to want that, ain't gonna happen."

For nowhere close to the first time, Sven felt terribly out of his element. None of his shipmates were likely to be here just because some politician told them so. "You don't share the same… intensity as our pilot, then?"

"Intensity?" Jace leaned back. "I've got intensity. Wait'll someone tries to spring themselves from the sick bay this ship _doesn't fucking have."_

Sven blinked. Had that really merited that kind of cursing? But he chose not to focus on it, turning the discussion elsewhere. "Or doesn't eat the sandwiches you've so carefully crafted?"

"Or eats them like a _barbarian_."

"I'm hungry!" He took another bite. "I'm sure eating a sandwich in a disagreeable way isn't grounds to pay the doctor a visit."

"Hey, you're the one that came in here." Jace studied him carefully. "But you're not so bad, I guess. At least you're eating something with nutritional value and not a giant maple bacon donut."

The thought of defending the maple bacon donuts came and went; even apart from his being the medic, Jace didn't seem like the kind of person he wanted to be on the wrong side of. "Not so bad? Just because I'm eating your sandwich?"

"What, do you _want_ me to think you're bad?" He shook his head. "Nah, man. Anyone who tells a politician they're a literal dick is good in my book."

"I _didn't_ …" _Do you_ want _him to think you're bad?_ "…know what, never mind. It's not my fault he couldn’t see past his own arrogance."

"Well, being here through no fault of our _own_ is a theme." Jace snorted. "Though I'm pretty willing to bet the crazy pilot and giant donut dude earned their slots fair and square."

Sven wouldn't have bet against that. "Possibly." He paused, trying to be casual, though he wasn't sure there was really a good way to ask… "So what're you in for?"

_Could've said that better, dummy, it's probably not double murder._

The medic paused and looked away, and for a moment Sven didn't think he was going to answer. "…Someone else died and I got buried." He shook his head, the bitterness harsh in his tone. "Fuck politics, man. I dragged a guy in off the front lines, my boss found out it was an officer and decided he could handle it better than I could. Spoiler alert: he couldn't."

_He couldn't… oh._ Sven looked away too. Definitely not just some politician being annoyed at him. _What can you_ say _to that?_

It seemed Jace had no patience for uncomfortable silence, because he broke it quickly. "He got buried harder, anyway. I figured they'd kick me out to the Rim, babysit some civvies. Think this is a step up or down?"

Whether that was a real question or not, he couldn't say. May as well answer. "I guess that depends where your ambitions are." He paused. "I became a navigator because I wanted to get away. Some people consider this a step down… but I don't." That _hadn't_ been the question, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Jace didn't seem too hard to read, but he also seemed to have his reasons, and he had no idea how thin the ice he was on really was. "For you I guess…" He kept his tone delicate. "It's probably better than a few alternatives?"

The medic gave him a piercing look. "No lie, man, all I thought I wanted was to get the hell off Prox. And keep people alive, that's the job description. I guess when you look at it that way this isn't so bad." He raised an eyebrow. "So you're happy to be here, huh?"

_Prox, really?_ Sven filed that away for later. Proxima Centauri had been Earth's first extrasolar colony, and he'd always heard it was an easygoing, freewheeling place. This guy was not even a little. "Anywhere but home. As you said… politics suck. I don't care that it got me here." Sigh. "I care that it embarrassed my parents. But it got me away and that’s been the goal from the beginning." He looked away, grimacing. He dearly loved his family, he did. He just hated their hobbies.

Jace didn't hide the bitterness. "Lucky you."

_He said he just wanted to get off Prox, but…_ "You'd rather be anywhere but here." It wasn't a question.

" _I_ wasn't the one who fucked up."

He could understand that sentiment, anyway. "No, you weren't." He set the sandwich down and considered his words carefully. He still felt so out of place, and the temptation to lapse into political-friendly mode was strong. "I'm sorry." As soon as he said it he winced. _Probably not the right thing to say here._

For a moment Jace eyed him doubtfully, then a sardonic smirk began to creep over his face. "Eat your sandwich, asshole. It's nice to feel appreciated."

Sven scoffed, but he was biting down a laugh. "It’s always nice to feel appreciated."

"It has its benefits." The medic shrugged, then glanced down as his forgotten datapad beeped. "…Oh, good! Boss wants to see us."

"We'd better get to it." Sven pulled out his own datapad and found a similar message awaiting his attention. "Pretty sure he wants to run a tight ship."

"Oh, something's tight there, alright." He snorted and jumped up, tucking the datapad away in a pocket. "Let's get going, _barbarian_."

_Oh, come on._ Sven glowered slightly as he finished his sandwich and stood. "Stop calling me that."

Jace paused, meeting his gaze. "…Sure, whatever you say, Viking."

…Someone else was going with that too? At least it was better than barbarian. With a sigh, he shrugged it off and followed.

*****

Keith sat in the conference room, sipping his coffee as he waited for the others to arrive. Flynn and Hunk had done a great job with the conversion. The only sign that this room had once been the crew quarters was a few plated-over holes where the bunks had been bolted down. It didn't appear they'd made any real effort to cover the mysterious red splotches… but one of them had spray painted "RIP Bob" on the wall.

He was pretty sure he could guess which of them _that_ had been.

The door slid open with a hiss, admitting their medic, who gave a sarcastic sort of wave-salute and dropped into the far chair. "Somebody call for a doctor?" Sven trailed in just behind, standing at attention and giving a perfect, proper salute before sitting next to him.

Keith arched an eyebrow. "Holgersson, we're on our mission now, you don't have to salute every time."

He blushed. "…Yes sir."

Nodding, Keith looked back to Jace. "Doc, I do have a question for you."

"You better pray it's not contagious."

Smirk. "No. Actually I'd been meaning to ask whether you prefer to be called Cardoso or Gregory."

Jace blinked, a little startled; he could count the number of people who'd ever bothered with _that_ question on one hand. But he waved it off. "Don't care what you call me, as long as I know it's me." Then, under his breath, "Most people don't stick to either of them very long anyway."

Right then the door opened again, admitting his very _favorite_ person on this ship. Hunk waved to them all and flopped into a chair which somehow managed to handle the impact. "Yo people! Pit boss'll be here in a few, he's fixin' a couple things. Said to go ahead and start without 'im if we need."

Keith eyed their explosives expert curiously. He seemed so easygoing… "Thank you for the message, Mr. Garrett." He'd barely finished speaking when Lance strode in, sipping a beer. "…A beer? Already?"

"I always celebrate a successful launch, boss."

Hunk cocked his head. "Dude, we launched yesterday!"

Wink. "And I've been celebrating!"

A slow grin spread over the big man's face. "I like your style, bro."

Jace and Sven didn't look nearly as impressed. Well, actually Sven looked a bit shocked, but Jace didn't look impressed. "Don't drink and fly, dumbass."

Lance smirked. "Jealous?"

With a dramatic sigh, Jace buried his face in his hands. Personally Keith agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment, but they had to move on. "Well, let's get started, then. Since Kleid isn't here yet—"

—As if on cue the door burst open one more time, admitting a sprinting Flynn, who nearly tripped over the threshold before catching himself on a chair. He dropped into it and straightened, catching his breath and attempting to look at least moderately respectable; it would've worked better if his face and coveralls weren't still streaked with engine grease.

Keith grinned and nodded to him as a couple of the others snickered. "Okay, in that case. You all know the mission basics. The three planets we're going to be investigating are Terina, Kithran, and Sorthal. It should be a simple enough run; intel says there isn't any pirate activity in this area." He couldn't help a small smirk. "Except us."

"Well that's good," Flynn muttered, "considering we have all of six missiles onboard… total."

Hunk crossed his arms. "I can make more missiles if we need 'em."

Immediately he had everyone's attention. "You can… what? Really?"

Shrug. "I mean, I'd need some supplies, but yeah."

"Oh. So no."

Something told Keith that Hunk could improvise with just about anything. His enigmatic grin in response to Flynn's doubt only reinforced that thought. "We'll keep that under advisement, Mr. Garrett. Hopefully it won't be necessary."

"With our current route we shouldn't run into anyone." Sven frowned. "Except _possibly_ the Galra once we're in range of the planet, but that doesn't seem likely."

"Bring on the Galra," Lance growled under his breath.

Keith decided it was better to let that go this time. "Kleid, what's our engineering status?"

"So far, so good. Shook a few things loose when we launched, but that's pretty normal with these engines." He rolled his eyes. For someone who loved the engines so much, he surely seemed not to _like_ them.

"If nothing shook loose I didn't do my job," Lance said lightly; Flynn elbowed him.

"And our fuel status? Will we need to refuel before we reach Terina?"

"Fuel is fine. We can technically make Kithran without refueling, but it's uninhabited so that doesn't do us much good."

"Good to know." Keith sipped his coffee. Extra fuel was never a bad thing. The more flexibility they had, the better he liked it.

"We are pulling twelve hour shifts in the bay, though." Flynn eyed Jace across the table. "Might have to recruit the doctor to babysit some monitors."

"… _Excuse_ me?"

Keith coughed, desperately struggling to fight back a laugh. Flynn just gave the medic a devious little smirk and leaned back in his chair. "So that's a no?"

"I'm busy." That got him more than one doubtful look. " _Cooking_."

Hunk brightened. "If you take a bay shift, I can cook more!"

"Fuck no. Stay in your lane, giant donut dude. At least until one of you ends up with a sucking chest wound that takes up all my time."

Lance snorted. "I want giant donut dude to cook."

"Oh, no." Sven sighed and edged his chair slightly away from the seething medic next to him.

Keith agreed with that sentiment, too. "Okay, that's enough. Don't make me start assigning shifts in the galley. Whoever wants to cook can do it, and thank you." He turned to Sven, who looked intensely grateful. "Holgersson, nav status?"

"We're right on schedule, sir. Our next waypoint shouldn't be for another few days."

"Excellent. McClain, how is the ship handling?"

"Beautifully." Lance took another drink of his beer. "Not that she needs much babysitting at the moment."

"Good." He looked to Jace, who seemed to have settled down a little, and gave him a sympathetic look. "Gregory, I'd ask you for a report if you actually had patients yet, but…"

"Trust me," he grumbled, "I'm losing patience left and right."

That drew another round of snickers; Keith sighed. He'd walked right into that one. "At least we know you have a sense of humor."

"Suppose that's a word for it," Flynn muttered, and Lance almost choked on his beer.

Keith eyed his second and shook his head. _Everybody's a critic._ "Okay. If nobody has anything else about our shipboard status to discuss, let's move on." He tapped a few commands into the table's embedded projector. A small, mostly green and gray planet flickered to life in front of them. "This is Terina. It's a neutral planet. It is peaceful, but very few humans visit there, so we will stick out. That's why I think we need to keep our contact with the locals to a minimum."

Hunk studied the image of the planet, then gave him a confused look. "Boss, ain't we like… a month away from this place still?"

"Yes, but it's best to be prepared. Our site is here." A blinking red marker appeared on the hologram. "Unfortunately, the Alliance's knowledge of the planet is minimal. There are areas of perpetual cloud cover dense enough to prevent orbital scans, and one of those areas is right on top of our site. Holgersson, you're in charge of procuring a local map when we arrive. Feel free to ask someone else to go with you if you feel it necessary."

Sven nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Maps?" Lance asked, sipping more beer. "We ask for directions? Cool."

Keith stared at him for a moment, rejecting several responses to that. Flynn came to his rescue. "When we get there, we should refuel before we go to the site. Most independent planets like to check out your cargo before they help you get back offworld."

"You act like we're gonna be looting their planet," Jace snorted. "Oh, _wait_."

Sven side-eyed the medic; Keith grimaced. He wasn't entirely keen on how he'd phrased that, but he wasn't exactly wrong.

"Yeah, 'bout that." Hunk shifted in his seat. "Do we have any idea what this site is all about?"

"To be honest? No. All we know is that we're looking for something that would catch the eye of the Galra. Given what little we know of them, it could be anything." Lance visibly tensed and clenched his jaw; Flynn eyed him warily and edged away. Keith opted to ignore that, too. "I wouldn't eliminate weapons as a possibility."

Hunk seemed unconcerned about the drama playing out across the table. "I am _all_ for findin' ancient alien sources of KABOOMS."

"The bay is rated for anything short of raw nuclear material," Flynn said, "so at least we're set on that count…"

"Good. It has to be something important, if the Garrison is sending us on this wild goose chase. We'll just have to keep our eyes open for anything interesting." Keith gave Hunk a pointed look. "And if we can't get something that seems significant off the planet, don't be afraid to blow it up."

A huge grin spread over his face. "You got it, boss."

"Don't think this guy's ever been afraid to blow anything up," Jace muttered under his breath. It had mostly been directed to Sven, but Hunk heard it and his grin got even wider.

"Nope. _Never_."

Lance studied Hunk for a moment, considering that information. He had some thoughts trying to form, but it probably wasn't the time… he felt eyes on him and turned to see Flynn watching him closely. Smirking, he raised his beer in salute; the chief held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

"Are we all going to the site?"

Keith shook his head. "I think we will need to leave at least one person on the ship… in case any locals show up while we're investigating. I'm going in, and I think Gregory needs to come in case the site is unstable and someone gets hurt."

"I'm going," Lance said immediately, in a tone that left no room for argument.

Someone might've argued with him anyway, but Jace's usual sour demeanor suddenly gave way to seriousness. "Not to tell you your business, boss, but if you think the site is dangerous you maybe don't want the medic going in first. If shit goes bad in there, I'm willing to bet I'm the one who's best trained to come drag you out."

Hunk and Flynn both eyed him doubtfully; Jace was the smallest person on the team, and it wasn't really close. He waved Flynn off, but acknowledged Hunk's look with a scowl. " _You_ just try not to get hurt, giant donut dude."

"I've actually got some evac training," the big man chuckled, flexing for emphasis. "Someone thought it'd be a good idea. Hard to think why, yeah?"

The medic arched an eyebrow. "Ever had to use it?"

Shrug. "Only when some buddies fell asleep on shift."

"I'm staying."

Keith looked between them, considering the debate. There was really no telling what the site would be like. Planning for the worst case was obviously necessary, but the answers were never so clear cut. "You may be right, Doc. We don't know what we're getting into here… okay. You stay behind, if nobody objects."

A round of nods went around the table. "Sounds like a plan…" Flynn eyed him. "A very _early_ plan."

"Better early than late." He swept his gaze over the team. "I expect everyone to get some rest while we're still in near space. We won't get much once we reach the Rim." Another round of nods. "Now, if that's all… dismissed."

"Yes sir."

"Cheers!"

"Fucking hallelujah."

Keith watched the team disperse and shook his head. He still wasn't sure they inspired confidence. And they didn’t seem like they were fully a team yet. But they were still a long way from Terina… plenty of time for that assessment to change.

Hopefully.

*****

Lance slouched down in the pilot chair with one hand on the controls. He liked feeling the ship through the vibrations. His eyes were on the autopilot, because while they were on a set course they were in hyperspace and shit happened. But he was bored and he checked the time. Kogane should be showing up soon to take over; three bridge crew, one long-ass goose chase. He groaned, feeling a yawn coming on, and tried to fight it but it was losing battle. Boredom coupled with little sleep—he never slept much early on in a new mission. "AHHHHHHHH," the yawn punched out of him.

Keith walked through the door just as Lance yawned. He smirked slightly. "Seems I got here just in time."

Lance startled a bit, looking back over his shoulder. He grinned. "Oh, hey, Bossman."

Keith nodded, coming to a stop beside him. "Anything to report?"

Lance shook his head, his eyes quickly moving over the settings and readouts on the helm before him. "No. We’re still on course, no problems in sight." He chuckled and looked up at him with his most winning smirk. "Unfortunately."

Keith nodded, deciding to ignore the heat behind the smile of the pilot. "I’d say that's fortunate, really. All right, I've got it. Go hit the rack."

Lance sighed. "Yeah, it may be fortunate, but I like challenges and this is… well… dull." He checked the monitors again before he hopped to his feet.

"Well, it’s to be expected. We’re still in friendly territory. Not much to do, really."

Lance nodded, fighting back another yawn. "Nope, but hey, adventure could be waiting!"

Keith gave him a half grin. "Could be, but I hope it’s uneventful. I’d hate to run into…" He paused and looked at Lance, deciding that he really needed to watch how he phrased this next bit to the hot tempered pilot. "Unfriendlies."

Lance arched an eyebrow at him. "Unfriendlies?" He laughed. "You mean the fucking Galra."

Keith sighed. He'd somehow known that wasn’t going to get past him, but he’d hoped. "Yeah. I mean them."

Lance nodded. "Yeah, well… I wouldn’t mind a chance to lay down some hurt."

"McClain… Lance… obviously you have some issues about them, and I won’t ask because I’m not wanting to open an obviously festering wound, but we can’t engage. As much as we all would want to, we just can’t. Not if we can avoid it."

The pilot gave a rather undignified snort. "Something tells me we won’t have to go looking for them." _I hope we don’t have to go looking for them…_

"Well, we’re _not_ going looking for them. We have our orders. Is this going to be a problem for you?" he asked, giving the other man a searching look.

Lance stared back at him and shook his head. "Nah, no problem, Bossman."

Keith kept his eyes on him, a strange nagging feeling deep in the pit of his gut, but Lance didn’t flinch. "Are you sure? I really don’t want to have to take measures to keep you in line if the worst happens…"

"If the worst happens, it’s them you’ll have to worry about, not me." He grinned. "I’m not gonna go looking for them." _Because we won’t have to. They’re gonna show, I know it._

Keith nodded. "You’d best not. The mission… and your team… come first."

Lance smirked. "Of course."

Keith frowned, not trusting that smirk, but he let it slide. "Alright. Bed, Lieutenant." He slid into the seat the other man had vacated and started looking over the controls, still getting familiar with the layout.

"Yes, sir, Bossman," Lance acknowledged, starting for the door.

"Oh. One more thing…"

Lance stopped and turned, looking back. "What?"

Keith turned his head, looking over his shoulder at him. "Don’t bring beer to my briefings again. I don’t mind you drinking off duty, but… not to the briefings."

Lance laughed and nodded. "Fair enough." He fought down another yawn. "I’d… better go follow that order about bed."

Keith nodded. "You do that. See you in twelve."

Lance saluted and winked, then he headed out the door.

Keith sat there, frowning. _Why is he always winking?_ He shook his head, then focused on the helm, sighing. _It’s going to be a long trip._

*****

Leaning back in his chair, Alfor gazed out of his personal office window, unconsciously fingering the silver and black pendant around his neck. He had a small task, an appointment to keep—a slightly unusual one, but under the circumstances hardly a problem. As he waited his mind was racing… it did that often of late.

It was a marvelous sunny day, like so many others in the Arusian summer. Though the clouds were light and puffy, his mind drifted to darker thoughts, far from the normality of the moment. He had been doing research, making discoveries… and since the most recent, he felt storm clouds drifting around his daughter. None that could actually be seen, but a spiritual presence that followed her every step.

Though that would be concerning regardless, it would've been less so if it weren't for his last visit with Queen Orla regarding her daughter. He hadn't seen the child personally at the time, but he had somehow sensed her movements. The day had been calm like today, yet even at a great distance he could sense the movement of the air behind her. Like the wind pushing from behind, guiding her steps forward at a hurried pace. He had asked the spirits for guidance about these strange sensations, but he was met with an awkward silence. History, and his painstaking research, told him that this meant something of a grand scale was coming.

This added more to his worry. He couldn’t blame the spirits for their silence… how would telling him what was coming help? If it was something so big, it could mean there was no avoiding it… or it must happen for something greater. Stroking his beard, he hoped for something for the greater good, but his thoughts drifted darker. There was another possibility… that this huge event would affect him in a major way, and one that wasn't so positive.

Taking a deep breath, he resolved to set things in motion, in the event that the storm clouds growing darker behind his daughter were a sign of some struggle she would face. Somehow, he would make sure she would have what she needed for what was to come.

Making his way to the bookshelf, he pondered which book might help in unlocking the mystery of what he'd found. The pendant hanging around his neck was part of it, but what? "Perhaps it is hidden in…" His fingers brushed against the various spines of old books, leather and delicate paper. "Old rhymes? Maybe something as simple as a child’s tale?"

It was a wild thought… but didn’t they use fairy tales to hide the truth about the mighty Lions? How long had they used that trick? Perhaps a fresh look at some old versions of the tales might give insight. As he pulled the oldest book of tales out, he could hear a familiar chuckle.

"Come, come… "

"Are you sure we should be here? I’ve kind of heard enough about Nanny already, won't she explode if she catches us?"

"Here? Nanny doesn’t have that much sway here, compared to other places in the Castle. Anyway…. you have to meet someone who is family, and without all the drama of protocol and such."

"…Oh, no. You’re _not_."

Soon, Alfor saw his smiling daughter rounding the corner, with a reluctant Larmina in tow beside her. "Hello dad," Allura said casually. "I brought Larmina with me."

Alfor tried to keep the laughter from his voice. "So I see. Greetings, Larmina. I hope things have not been too difficult while settling in?"

Larmina gulped, struggling to find her voice. "It’s… it's a lot to take in," she said softly, half hoping the ground might reach up and swallow her.

Alfor smiled. "Come closer. You don’t need to be nervous right now. I’m sure Allura will let you know when you have to be formal around me. But for now, it's hardly necessary." He studied her carefully; her fiery hair was not common to the Altair line, but her soft turquoise eyes were so familiar. "My… you have grown. I think you were just a few months old when I last saw you. I can see much of your mother in you."

Larmina came closer, still nervous. All her indignation about being here seemed to have fallen away for an instant—this was the High King! And he wasn't looking at her with the scorn she was used to. "Thank you for having me here, but I… don’t understand why you would… I’m nobody." She said the last part very quietly.

"Nonsense. You are here to learn, such is life. You may not think these skills are useful, you may not even want them, but I have reason to believe you may need them more than you think." He placed the book down on his desk. "I also have reason to believe you _need_ to be here… something is here that is meant just for you."

Raising an eyebrow, Larmina couldn't hold back a doubtful chuckle. "Me? I’m sorry, but are you sure it's _me_ you mean?"

Alfor smiled at the restraint Larmina managed to show; he'd heard Orla’s warnings and tales. "I am. But this is something you must find out on your own."

Larmina barely held back an eyeroll. "That sounds… fun? What with the busy schedule this Nanny is apparently whipping up, I'm sure I can fit a mysterious adventure right between lunch and nev…" Larmina fell silent and bit her lip almost hard enough to draw blood as she realized who she was still talking to. Looking at Alfor in horror, instead of an angry king, she found him desperately fighting to hold a laugh behind puffed up cheeks. "…nev… er?" she finished weakly.

Alfor's broad smile remained. "Oh, with your history, I’m sure you’ll find your way about the castle grounds in no time. Just keep an open mind here. Yes, it can be stuffy, and the protocol can be difficult… but if you learn well, you might gain much more than you think. Who knows? You may find answers, and perhaps help change things for the greater good."

Larmina gave him a puzzled look. Allura _had_ said he was trying to change things on Arus… mulling over the words, she nodded slowly. "So… I have to stay and deal with all the big f—uh, formal royal stuff, but I can explore too?"

Alfor nodded. "You have a mystery, and I’m betting you’ll solve it. Now…" He looked at the clock. "I’m guessing you ladies are due to be somewhere else, so off you go before you become late."

Smiling, Allura waved a farewell, and Larmina even managed a curtsy that didn't look too terribly painful.

Watching them leave, Alfor again marveled at the strange forces following behind the two girls. A strange harmony seem to happen when they were close to each other, the storm and winds swirling together. Resolving to watch as carefully as he could, he returned to his studying. Maybe he could find the answers to all of this.


	5. Touch and Go

Though technically the bridge only had one person on duty at a time, it wasn't uncommon to see two or even all three of the bridge crew on deck. There wasn't a whole lot else to do on the _Firecrown_. May as well pull extra duty and get used to the ship's quirks early.

So it was Lance's shift when Sven, running some routing simulations, was distracted by a soft series of beeps from his monitor. _That's_ … he frowned in confusion, taking a moment to figure out if the alert was for real space or the simulation. Then his eyes widened and he hit the comms. "Commander!"

"Yes, Holgersson?"

"The navigational scanners are picking up some hyperspace ripples near our current route. They indicate a spatial rift is about to open up, roughly ninety-seven percent probability."

Lance straightened and looked over at him, looking interested for the first time this whole shift. A moment later the door to the bridge slid open; clearly Keith hadn't been far away. He moved up to stand behind Sven, studying the monitors.

"How much time do we have before it opens?"

"Not long." Sven's fingers flew over the console, checking data as he worked out the calculations. "And it won't last long. But we have enough time to get there if we go now."

Spatial rifts were one of the many oddities of hyperspace—a dimension Alliance scientists still only half understood. Planar anomalies that could exist anywhere from a few seconds to a few hours, a rift could slingshot a ship vast distances in a matter of minutes, far faster than even the best hyperspace thrusters would allow. They had certain drawbacks, significant ones. Quite a lot of spacers would never touch them. But if you were willing to make the trade…

Sven had never mapped one in the field before, let alone jumped one. But he knew the theory inside out, and he _was_ good at his job.

"Will it get us near where we need to go?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Sven bit the inside of his cheek to cut off what else he'd been tempted to say. _I'm a mathematician, not a magician._ One of the complications of jumping a rift was finding a safe point to aim for, and Terina was in a crowded region of space. But finally… "Yes. It'll cut our trip time down to about a week."

Keith nodded, eyes sharpening. That was a hard thing to pass up. "McClain, start us toward it." He turned to the comms. "Kleid, we've got a possible spatial rift opening up. Can you get the ship ready in time?"

There was a momentary silence. "It'll take about half an hour to get everything set. Do we have that long?"

Keith looked to Sven, who did some more quick math and nodded. "You've got time."

"Okay. Send the sensor data back here and I'll get started."

"So we're really doing this?" Lance asked, his voice and eyes both filled with excitement. He was already pushing them forward, picking up speed.

"All hands, prepare for spatial rift jump," Keith ordered over open comms. Just to make it official. Then he brought up the sensor console and focused in on the rift—or at least, the coordinates Sven had pinpointed as the potential rift site—and routed the data. "Yes, McClain, we're really doing this."

" _Sweet_."

*****

Jace had been in the gym when the order came through. He scowled at the comms on principle, though he didn't really mind it. The sooner they got where they were going, the sooner they could leave. "I'm gonna have to hook you all up to biometrics," he announced as he ran for his quarters to get his kit. "If the rift fucks anyone up I'm gonna need to know about it _yesterday_."

He was pretty sure a couple of people groaned in response. Didn't matter, they'd groan a lot louder if they keeled over from rift sickness. It turned out human bodies weren't really designed to be thrown multiple light years per second and forcibly ejected from hyperspace. Some people experienced adverse effects.

What came over the comms next made _him_ groan.

"Doctor, I hate to do this to you, but can you wake Hunk up first?" Flynn didn't actually sound all that apologetic. "I can't really leave the bay right now."

_Porra._

Jace sighed. Asking him did make the most sense, whether he liked it or not. "Yeah… I'm on it. Biometrics _after_ I get giant donut dude up." He pulled his kit from a locker and headed to the opposite side of the passenger wing. He pushed open the door to Garrett's room and blinked. Had he not known they were aboard an _Endeavor_ hurtling headlong for a hyperspace anomaly, he'd have thought he'd somehow wandered into a college dorm.

_Dude has crush car posters on the walls. On the ship_. _On the mission. Sure, why wouldn't he?_

Garrett was snoring away, flopped over the too-small bed in a way that was definitely going to call for a chiropractor later. Jace carefully picked his way through the scattered clothes, comic books, tech readouts, and unidentifiable chunks of metal on the floor. This guy _was_ the bomb tech—he didn't trust anything he might try to move not to blow up.

"Yo! Garrett! Wake up, we're about to fling our asses out of hyperspace!"

Giant donut dude didn't even twitch.

Shaking him seemed like an incredibly bad idea… Jace thought for a moment, then raised his voice and dialed up his most dramatic tone. "Oh _no!_ I spilled the murder pepper sauce all over everything!"

Garrett sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and shocked. "Hey! Be careful with that stuff! We've only got so much and it'll burn holes in your…" His panicked yell trailed off as he looked around the room and blinked. "Oh… hey Doc, what's shakin'?"

All Jace could do for a moment was stare at him. _That actually fucking worked?_ "…Chief wants you in the bay. We're hitting a spatial rift."

"A rift?" A huge grin split his face. "Dude, that's way better than spilled murder pepper sauce!" He vaulted off the bed, grabbed the nearest shirt, yanked it over his head, and was gone without another word.

Jace watched him go, rubbing his forehead for a moment. "For fuck's _sake_ …"

Well, mission accomplished. He headed for the bridge.

*****

_Flyboys really didn't waste_ any _time trying to break my ship, did they?_

Flynn had his eyes glued to the sensor data, waiting for the inevitable. He'd changed the engine cycles to sync with the current planar fluctuations… and as soon as the rift actually formed, nearly every bit of data would change and undo all his fine work.

Even perfectly synced, the rift _would_ blow all their engines out. Surging was an inevitable byproduct of the process. At least these particular engines would only need to be cleared and restarted; fusion coil drives surging tended to melt the coils outright. Not that he'd _ever_ dealt with that in his career, not at all.

The bay door hissed open. "Yo pit boss! I'm awake, I'm awake!"

He didn't look up from his console—first because he needed to focus completely, second because he could _hear_ Hunk skidding into the bay just fine. "You're on shield calibration."

"On it!" Hunk ran to his console, pulling up the sensor data and starting his work. Like the engines, the shields had to resonate exactly with the flow of the rift. If they didn't, they would all be in for a _thoroughly_ entertaining afternoon.

Suddenly a shudder ran through the _Firecrown_. Not a particularly violent one, but long and steady, as if they'd been caught in a mild earthquake in space. Flynn glanced up at his feed from the ship's forward monitors and smiled faintly. A distant pinpoint of light was visible, rippling and shifting, taking on every known color and a few that quite possibly didn't exist.

The rift was open.

*****

The sheer amount of _math_ required to successfully jump a rift was staggering. Sven had four different monitors running scans, pulling the data he needed. He was doing the calculations as quickly as he could, but was once again uncomfortably aware of the fact that everyone else on the bridge was waiting on him.

For whatever reason, calculating the precise safe point was being incredibly stubborn. And without a safe point to aim for, he couldn't even begin to calculate the entry angle and velocity that would get them where they wanted to go. If all the math in front of him would just cooperate, they could get moving, but no…

Keith had stopped staring over his shoulder and started pacing. He wasn't sure which was worse. Lance was at least mostly focused on piloting, keeping the ship steady as the rift coalesced before them.

After picking up a couple of extra supplies he'd decided he might need, Jace made his way onto the bridge. He'd only done a rift jump once before, but he knew what was coming. "McClain, let's get you hooked up before we hit the—" A sharp quake rocked the ship and he gave a startled yelp, dropping gracelessly to the floor. "…turbulence."

Lance snickered quietly as Keith helped the medic up. "It's just a little bit. Let's get that hookup over with." He hated biometric monitoring, and from the boss's expression he didn't like it much better.

"Oh don't give me that look, either of you. These are the fancy wireless ones, you won't even know they're there."

Well _that_ was bullshit. The bands on his arm weren't so bad, but the neck patch was barely stuck to him before Lance started fidgeting uncomfortably. It was all he could do not to rip the damn thing off… fortunately he had rift turbulence to keep him busy. Though maybe not for long. "We're almost there." He glanced over at Sven, who didn't look at all happy, and decided not to say anything else despite his impatience.

Back in the bay, Flynn had no such awareness; the comms crackled as the engines changed to a lower pitch. "I'll need the entry velocity as soon as you've got it. Putting the engines in surge protection mode changes the acceleration a bit."

Sven's tone somehow managed to be polite and drip with frustration at the same time. "You will have it the second I finish calculating it."

"Take your time, Holgersson." Keith stopped pacing, though it only lasted a moment. "Get it right."

"Yes sir. I should have it finished a few minutes before we get there." _Hopefully_.

Lance didn't quite have the heart to tell him they were less than a minute away from the rift well. They couldn't go any further than that without risking being thrown through at who the hell knew what angle. He slowed the ship, gripping the controls tight, fighting the turbulence that was now battering them pretty thoroughly.

As he finished hooking the biometrics monitors to Keith, Jace turned to Sven. One look at his expression was all it took. "…I'll go to the bay and come back." He left the bridge quickly, leaving Lance snickering a little more.

"We're in the rift well," Hunk reported as the ship slowed further. "Shields are holding."

Sven gritted his teeth, biting his cheek again. _Almost_ … suddenly it all seemed to fall into place, like the last piece of a puzzle. With a triumphant smile he finished up his calculations—they all fell together so easily after that first one. "Got it." He transmitted the data to Lance and the velocity back to engineering. "McClain, you have to hit this exact angle and this exact speed, or… we won't end up where we want to."

_To put it mildly._

Lance grinned as the information lit up on his screen. "Piece of cake. Flynn, we good?"

Flynn didn't answer immediately. He was studying the velocity data, frowning as he did a few calculations of his own. "No. Not exactly. Sending you the acceleration parameters, you're going to have to go back around and get some distance to hit this speed."

Lance nodded, not that the engineer could see it. He wasn't about to argue with more flying. As the new information came up he started skimming the edges of the rift well, fighting the turbulence and bringing them around. You couldn't just fly _straight_ out of a rift well. There was no gravity in hyperspace, but the forces here were remarkably similar.

As they broke free of the rift's pull and drifted to a stop, Jace returned to hook Sven up, then looked at the commander and indicated the vacant gunnery console. "Mind if I strap myself in?"

"Knock yourself out, Doc."

"The idea is to _not_ knock myself out."

Lance groaned; he was pretty sure Kogane had chosen that phrasing intentionally, and wasn't sure he approved of the bossman's sense of humor. "What, you don't wanna fall on your ass again?"

Glare. "When you all get rift sick I'm gonna remember this."

"Are we ready to go?" Keith asked, clearing his throat to shut them up. "Engineering?"

"Shields are set," Hunk reported. "Let's rock this thing!" As soon as he finished speaking, Ride of the Valkyries started blasting over the comms again.

Flynn looked at Hunk and shook his head. The big guy was… something. "Engines are set. It's all you, flyboy."

"Finally fucking time for _flying_!" Lance looked back to Keith with a huge smirk. "Well?"

Keith nodded. "Take us through, Mr. McClain."

Somehow Lance's smirk actually got wider. Then he punched the throttles, bringing the engines up to their second stage and wrenching the _Firecrown_ around at nearly a full 90 degree angle.

Flynn hadn't bothered to strap himself in; he was well used to compensating for normal acceleration. As the ship lurched violently to life, that small oversight of _not_ expecting their pilot to be insane sent him flying halfway across the bay. Scrambling back into position he started to yell something about overtaxing the hull, but stopped as he got a look at the data. The _Firecrown_ was just on the edge of its operational parameters, and it was holding just fine.

"Faex… he really _is_ that good."

Keith was less impressed. Well, it wasn't that he wasn't _impressed_ , exactly. But he was busy gripping the arms of his command chair, hoping it wouldn't break again as the acceleration shoved him hard back into the seat.

"Time to thread the needle," Lance murmured nearly to himself, and with another lurch they hurtled into the rift.

Whatever turbulence they'd dealt with in the rift well was _nothing_ compared to the rift.

Trying to keep the _Firecrown_ on its vector was like trying to fly through a hurricane. Which, to be fair, had always sounded like fun. Lance gripped the controls with all his strength, feeling every muscle tense as he fought to keep them on course. But he was cackling with glee, and the rougher the ride got, the louder he laughed.

Their pilot's insane laughter was not doing _anything_ for Keith's nerves. Nor was it doing much for Sven's headache—math-induced, heavy-metal-intensified—though the headache was fading a bit in comparison to the brand new vertigo. He was watching his monitor carefully, tracking the time to exit and making sure they stayed on course, but most of his energy was devoted to not hurling all over the screen.

Hunk was watching his monitor just as carefully, clinging to the bracing bar by the aux console as the ship bounced around like a beach ball. Every few seconds he had to make slight adjustments to the shields. Even that much movement forced him to struggle against the g-forces, which weren't even supposed to _exist_ in hyperspace. They probably weren't really g-forces. H-forces? R-forces? Drop-you-on-your-butt-ouch-forces? Hyperspace theory wasn't his thing.

"Shields still holding." That was really all he was worried about at the moment.

Across the bay, Flynn was not watching his monitors at all. Too many numbers, too little time. He had his eyes closed, listening to the howl of the engines; they would tell him everything he needed to know right now.

A low rumble echoed beneath the floor of the bay. A second later, the pitch of the engines lowered to match it. Eyes flashing open, Flynn tightened his grip on his own bracing bar and called out in unison with Sven.

"Brace for exit breach!"

Lance felt the same shift in the engines and gritted his teeth. Exit was the most difficult part of a rift jump—he doubted anyone else on the bridge wanted to hear _that_ , so he kept it to himself and tensed. Waiting.

With one final huge lurch, the ship careened out of the rift, the stars and darkness of real space reappearing around them. Being forcibly thrown out of hyperspace at such speeds did fantastic things to your inertia, obviously; the ship immediately went into a bit of a spin. At the same time the engines gave a horrible shrieking roar, the telltale sign of a fatal surge. Lance leaned forward, shoulders hunched, yanking on the controls to use that final burst of thrust before…

The engines went silent, the lights flickered out, and the last gasp of the _Firecrown_ 's thrust reversers brought them lurching to a perfect stop.

"Fuck yeah!" Lance crowed, falling back into his seat. A soft hum took over as the ship's backup power came online, bringing up the emergency lighting and essential consoles.

"That was _awesome!"_ Hunk yelled as the comms returned.

Sven’s eye twitched at Lance’s cursing, even as he fought to catch his breath. He thanked various gods for the straps that had saved him from flying across the bridge. "Not really the words I'd use…"

"Status report," Keith ordered. "Engineering?"

"Main engines are down," Flynn reported, though he was pretty certain everyone had noticed. "Going to have to manually inspect for damage. If nothing burned out we'll have them firing in twenty. Breach drive needs a full reset and charge cycle."

"Sounds good. Navigation?"

Jace was watching the biometrics data. It looked mostly normal, except for one… "Viking, you okay?"

Sven blinked, still trying to breathe, looking over his monitors. "We're where we—" That was all he got out before a wave of intense nausea washed over him. He looked around frantically—wasn't there a trash can somewhere on this bridge?—but that only made the vertigo worse.

_Not good, not good_ …

"…Okay, so you're not." Jace unhooked his straps and dug a sterile bag from his kit, handing it to him.

"Well, it seems that was a successful…" Keith fell silent and exchanged grimaces with Lance as Sven stood, hurled into the bag, and dropped back into his seat. "…mostly successful rift jump. Kleid, how are you and Garrett holding up? We have one down with rift sickness."

"We're fine, I think."

Hunk had lost his fight with balance and hit the deck during their exit from the rift. Now he tried standing—work to do, after all—and immediately regretted it. Suddenly the bay was spinning circles around him.

Jace's scanner beeped, and he glanced at it with a frown. "Giant donut dude reporting rift sickness in three… two…"

"…I, uh… I ain't feelin' so hot, actually…"

Flynn didn't look away from the status monitors. "Sit down. Don't throw up in my bay."

He wasn't about to argue with sitting, but Hunk still made a face as he obeyed. "Your sympathy is touching, pit boss."

"I'm very sympathetic! Throwing up is awful and I don't want you to do it."

"Giant donut dude, you stay on your ass until I get there," Jace snapped.

"Don't worry, Doc. Ain't goin' _nowhere_."

"Yeah you better not." Then he turned his attention back to Sven and his expression softened somewhat. "Come on, let's get you back to your room. Not gonna need navigation for a couple hours, and you need to rest."

Sven started to protest. He needed to be here, he needed to get started recalculating their route, he needed… to not do any of that just now, he decided as a new wave of nausea bubbled up.

"That wasn't _optional_ , Viking." Jace pulled out a new bag and offered an arm.

Keith was watching with concern. "Do as he says, Holgersson."

"Wasn't planning on disobeying." He took the bag, leaning on Jace's arm and taking a deep breath. "I just need a minute." That much talking told him he also needed to keep his mouth _closed_.

"Take your time. Try to keep your head steady, having to rebalance is what'll really fuck you up." Jace carefully started to guide him to the doorway.

"Feel better, Viking." Lance grinned. "You did good math."

Sven waved weakly in thanks and allowed the medic to herd him back to his quarters. As soon as they got there Jace started digging through his kit. "Lie down and don't move your head. I'll get you some meds and then I have to go check on giant donut dude."

Lying down sounded absolutely wonderful right now. Medication sounded like something that might be uncomfortable. "I'll be fine. Go check on Garre—giant donut dude."

"Yeah, no. You need meds."

"It can wait."

"You're in _way_ worse condition than he is, now shut up and…" He trailed off. "Know what, fine. I'll be back when I'm done in the bay."

Sven exhaled and closed his eyes; somehow the room was still spinning even when he couldn't see anything. _Ugh_. He was completely focused on trying to breathe evenly, so much so that it didn't occur to him that he hadn't heard his door close. At least, not until a hand grabbed his arm and a sharp pinch stung his shoulder.

"Ow!" He moved his head just enough to glare, and regretted it immediately. "What was that?!"

"Well you can't very well swallow pills in your state, dumbass." Jace replaced the empty syringe in his kit. Sven kept glaring; that got him a small grin and a pat on the shoulder. "Glare all you want. I save asses, I don't kiss them, remember?"

Well _now_ he certainly remembered. And he wasn't really in any state to argue, either. So he closed his eyes, listening for the door this time, and slowly drifted off.

*****

Keith watched their navigator and medic leave, then turned to Lance and poked his arm. "You did good math?" he repeated incredulously.

"What? He did!"

"I know, but… you couldn't have just said he did good? You had to put math on it?"

Lance chuckled. "It's what he did good at, bossman."

Well, he supposed it was, at that. Keith shook his head and sighed. "I just hope we don't have a fried engine. That exit felt a little rough."

"Could've been worse." Lance leaned back and winced at the dull ache shooting through his shoulder blades. Keith eyed him sharply. "But the engines did feel like they were straining."

"…You're hurt, aren't you?"

"Nah, muscles are just tense." He rolled his shoulders a bit. "Always happens."

"Well if it doesn't settle down soon, I expect you to pay the Doc a visit. We already have two down, we don't need more."

"Will do, bossman." At the mention of Jace he reached up and fidgeted with the monitor patch on his neck. "Can we take this crap off?"

Now it was Keith's turn to chuckle. "As much as I'd like to say rip it off, I don't dare. Doc would have our asses before we tossed them across the bridge."

Lance scowled, but it was probably true, so he settled for standing up and stretching more. "Yeah."

"Set the autopilot to standby and go take a walk. We won't be going anywhere for awhile anyway, try to work that tension out."

A walk didn't sound half bad, actually. Lance tossed him a casual salute, which caused some new soreness to ripple through his shoulder… okay, so a walk sounded very _good_.

Keith watched him go and let out a breath he hadn't fully realized he'd been holding. It seemed the jump had been a success, even with two down with rift sickness… though he'd feel a lot better when the engines came back on.

*****

The bay was quiet, too quiet. Flynn had left Hunk sitting by his console watching the status monitors; he claimed he could see them well enough from the floor. He wasn't entirely certain he believed that, but it wasn't as if he was going to argue the point. Right now he was halfway through his inspection of the engines. So far so good…

He pushed open the third access hatch, pausing a moment as the scent of ozone, reactor fuel, and scorched metal washed over him. It wasn't a pleasant scent by any means, but it was familiar, and there was something almost comforting about it. Though it seemed much stronger here than the first two engines.

This probably wasn't going to be good.

Walking into the access shaft he found the engine's manual control panel and typed in a test fire code. Instead of the brief flashes of flame the other engines had produced, this one gave a choking sputter and remained dark.

_Faex_. "Kogane, the number three engine burned out a fuel line. We can function without it but we'll have to reroute some systems. Won't be back up to full efficiency until we get to Terina and can replace the line, but we can get close."

"Roger that, Kleid. Do what you have to do."

Well _that_ was an order that had gotten him into all kinds of trouble over his career. But this shouldn't be so bad. He backed out of the third engine's hatch and started for the fourth, but Hunk called out from behind him before he got there. "You're gonna let me help with the rerouting, right?"

"Sit!"

Hunk groaned. "Pit bosssss…"

"…Oh, knock that off." Flynn rolled his eyes, then turned to smirk at him. "Like hell I'm doing all of that alone. You'll be helping me as… soon as you're… cleared…"

Truthfully, it was the first time he'd really _looked_ at Hunk during the whole ordeal. A few other things had taken priority. But there was their demolitions expert, sitting and sulking on the bay floor, wearing a Lemon Zinger Cult t-shirt and bright yellow smiley face boxers.

He might have stared a little longer than strictly necessary, but _really_ …

"…and as soon as you _put on some pants_."

Hunk blinked, then blushed bright red. "Dude, we were hoppin' a rift, who's got time for pants?"

"There is _always_ time for pants," Flynn protested, turning back to engine four before Hunk could respond. This really wasn't a discussion he had any desire to continue, for more reasons than one.

If Hunk had had any interest in continuing, Jace's arrival cut it off. "Okay, so what've we got?" He checked his scanner and tilted his head. "Feeling okay as long as you're sitting?"

Hunk looked up and nodded. "Yeah. But then I stand up and go _woooooo_."

"Mild case, that's not so bad. Give me your arm." He leaned over slightly—even with giant donut dude sitting down, he really only had to lean _slightly_ —and injected him. "Give that fifteen minutes at minimum, then try standing up again."

"Gotcha." The big man looked at the pinprick on his shoulder. "You got any smiley face bandages?"

"…No." Scowl. "Look, I need to go monitor the Viking, he's got it _bad_. But if you still get all spinny and shit later, don't try to tough it out or anything stupid. Sit back down and _call me._ Got it?"

Hunk nodded, then grinned and called over to Flynn. "Look, pit boss, he really does love me!"

A sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort drifted out of engine four's access shaft.

"…Go to hell," Jace grumbled, rolling his eyes and leaving the bay.

"Think we're goin' to Terina," Hunk muttered behind him, drawing another laugh from the engine shaft. A moment later, the ship trembled as the three working engines spooled up, an initial soft whine becoming a dull roar that echoed through the bay. "Oh hey! We're back!"

"That we are." Flynn returned to the main console as the ship's lighting slowly flickered back online. "Beginning breach drive reset, Kogane. We'll have to recharge before we can go back into hyperspace, but it's better if we stay put while we're rerouting the power systems anyway. It'll take a couple of shifts."

"Roger that, Kleid." Keith's relief was evident even over the comms. "I had McClain put us on standby, take the time you need to get it done. We just cut nearly a month off our trip, a day of downtime won't hurt."

"On it. I'll keep you informed." Flynn turned back to Hunk. "You heard him. We have time. Get better, get some clothes, and let's get this ship moving."

*****

So today she was finally supposed to meet the dreaded Nanny. Larmina was steeling herself for a disaster. She decided to go for a run first, to calm her nerves; the castle had all this real estate, why not make use of it? She was pretty sure she'd seen a trail around the lake. And King Alfor _had_ told her she could explore the grounds.

It turned out the lake was much bigger than she thought…

By the time she jogged back to the castle she was completely out of breath, soaked with sweat, her hair a little bedraggled from the morning winds. The run had almost managed to relax her. Until she saw a plump older woman waiting for her, glaring mightily.

"Lady Larmina! You are late!"

Oh. Larmina sighed and flipped her ponytail back. "Sorry." She wasn't sorry. "You must be Nanny."

"That is not a proper introduction!" she snapped, which was an awful long way to say _yes_. "And what are you wearing?"

Larmina blinked. She was wearing completely normal workout clothes, purple sweatpants and a sleeveless blue tank top. "I couldn't go out jogging in a dress…"

"You—you cannot wear that in public! Does Queen Orla really allow you to dress that way?"

"My mother doesn't 'allow' anything. I'm capable of dressing myself."

Nanny's eyes actually bulged. Her scandalized look would have been funny if this whole conversation weren't so annoying. "You are a _princess!"_

Immediately Larmina's expression darkened. "No. No I'm not."

"Hmph." Nanny waved that off. "You are a Daughter of Arus, and that means something regardless of your parentage. You are _here_ to learn to uphold that great honor. Now, why don't you introduce yourself to me properly?"

In another place, other circumstances, Larmina could've been warmed by the easy dismissal of her deeply _improper_ parentage. But right now she was just annoyed. Very annoyed. Still, the sooner she played along, the sooner she could go back home.

_You're never going back home, you know. Not until you've been_ properly _married off to some_ proper _noble of_ proper _parentage. And then it won't be like home anymore._

Scowling at far more than just Nanny, she performed the best curtsy one could really perform in workout pants. "Good morning, madam. I am Lady Larmina Elena Altair, Daughter of the Seven Isles. It is an honor to make your acquaintance." Her voice never wavered from a resentful monotone.

Nanny's look never wavered from its judgmental frown. "Hmph. It's a start." She bowed instead of curtsying, as was proper from someone who wasn't of noble blood, though there was no question who really held the higher rank right now. "I am Lady Nandara Hys, the castle governess. You may call me Nanny… once I'm satisfied that you are taking my lessons to heart."

"Guess I'll never be calling you Nanny, Nanny," Larmina muttered under her breath.

Her eyes did that bulging thing again. "I beg your pardon, young lady?"

Larmina cleared her throat. "I hope I'll soon be able to call you Nanny, Nanny."

*****

Nanny's new task was proving helpful elsewhere, at least.

Tanner was running down the hallway as fast as he could, gaping short prayers under his breath that he could reach his room before Nanny either saw him or got word of his appearance. A mix of green and brown stained parts of his shirt, a good part of the side of his vest was torn, and his once nice purple pants were mostly covered in mud. He was sure if Nanny were to catch him, she would lay into him on how his looks diminished his status of a Prince of the High Court. Yet part of him felt it was so worth ruining his clothes…

Quickly ducking into the private staircase, he dashed up them to near safety—as far as he could sense—and he was only a few steps away from his room when he ran face first into Allura. Dread filled him as he could tell by her face, he was about to get it.

"Tanner… you'd better have a good reason for looking like this!" Allura cried out as she checked to see if anything on him fell on her own clothing.

"It was good, really!" he said as he made his way to his room. "It so fun… like… nothing that Nanny would organize." Allura just raised an eyebrow as she followed, picking up a few leaves and chunks of dirt that Tanner trailed along the way. He wasn't getting out of this so easily. "Okay… you know that field by the tree she likes to have us rest after a walk?" Allura nodded. "There were some kids from the village having a ball game. Looked really fun, so I asked if I could join in…"

"I bet they said no."

Tanner chuckled as he wiggled out of his ruined clothes. "Yeah… they did. I guess they've… crossed paths with some of the Court before. Still! I don't see why I should not have a chance to learn about the games others play. Most of the games we learn about are _boring_. I had to take the chance… I gave them an 'I can deal with it' chat and got them to let me play."

Of course he had. Allura pursed her lips; it was hard not to smile, even knowing he shouldn't have done it. "And?"

He looked up at her with a look of bliss. "I could have played for hours! But it hit me… if I failed to make my lessons, Father would be mad. So I said farewell, may we play again and rushed back as soon as I could get here." He still had a huge grin as he put fresh clothes on.

Allura rolled her eyes a little; that fearless attitude that she knew well did get him into some trouble. "You know Nanny would hound you for days if she caught you as muddy as you were. Practicing with the heaviest books you could carry on your head for a week."

"But sis… I was just like any other kid playing. You know how that can feel like, right? Can’t you imagine regular lessons, regular games, not having to prep for grand galas and stately visits?"

Didn't _that_ sound familiar? Of course she could imagine. It went hand in hand with the rest of being royalty. "Of course I can understand." She sighed. "But we are not that lucky, to live anything close to what most call a normal life. I’ll make sure your clothes are fixed… but you owe me big time, you understand?"

"You are the greatest sister in the universe. I’ll have the biggest statue put up in your honor."

"Please don’t…"

Giving Allura the biggest hug he could give, he promised, "then I'll work my hardest at my lessons, for a start. We can work out the rest of what I owe later."

Allura watched as her brother ran off once more. She wasn’t sure where to begin with fixing the mess he'd made of his clothes… but she was thinking a whole bottle of red wine might be needed get it done fast and to keep it done quietly. She might toss in some of her own money, to help with the costs and keep any records of the repair off the books.

It wasn't easy being in her position. There was a reason it was falling to her to be the intermediary with Larmina, along with keeping her brother out of trouble… she was old enough to accept her responsibilities, but still young enough to feel their sting. But like the crown itself, it was a difficult role, but a rewarding one. And by the time she was finished gathering up Tanner's clothes, she'd let that affectionate smile show.

As for her wish for a statue not to appear, well… later that night she found a gift made of linking bricks in her room, along with a few runaway bricks she might have found with her bare feet. _Ooh, Tanner!_ But it wasn’t going to stop her from loving him… no, it wouldn't change a thing.


	6. Echoes of Beasts

Sven blinked the sleep from his eyes as he woke. His room was dark. The light had been on when he fell asleep, Jace must have turned it off. Sitting up without thinking, the navigator was pleasantly surprised when the nausea didn’t hit him as hard as it had the last time he’d woken. He stood up and turned on the light.

Looking around his quarters, he noted his unmade bed and began fixing it to military standards. He didn’t need any more sleep for the time being, and a made bed could make an entire room look clean, even if it wasn’t. Not that his room was dirty. Once the bed was made it was pristine, actually. Everything had a place and everything was in said place, even the smallish pile of books in the left corner. They were strewn about with sticky notes poking out of them, marking things for him to go back to later. Bookmarks marked the places he had stopped reading. They may have looked messy but they were anything but. They were in a particular order, dictated by genre and how much each interested him.

Walking over to the books, he selected the one on Norse mythology, a book he had read many times before. Sitting down next to the books he began rereading some of his favorite tales, ignoring the slight discomfort his stomach was causing. Which was easy. It had been much, much worse when they had jumped out of the rift. Sven was extremely grateful for the reprieve from vomiting. It was nice…

Just as he was really starting to lose himself in the stories, the door hissed open. It was Jace, carrying a tray with a sandwich and a steaming bowl of something. "Giant donut dude _insisted_ on making you chicken soup…" That had been addressed in the general direction of the bed, and he trailed off as he realized his patient wasn't in it. "…why are you on the floor, barbarian."

Sven looked up, not entirely surprised. The medic had been hovering over him in the days since the rift—monitoring his vitals, feeding him toast, calling him names. Actually saying _hello_ had been one of the first things to go. "Because I just made my bed, no sense ruining it. And chicken soup actually sounds wonderful."

"Of course you did." Jace looked at the bed, then back down at him. "I'm gonna guess this means you're feeling better?"

"I didn't throw up when I woke up." Sven stood and accepted the tray, then returned to his spot on the floor. "So yes."

"Definitely an improvement." Not for the first time lately, he was getting a very judgmental look. This time it was directed between him and the small desk against the wall. "…Know what, whatever makes you happy. Move your head for me."

They'd been through this exercise a few times lately too; Sven knew the drill. He slowly rotated his head both ways, once looking straight ahead, once keeping his eyes on the medic who was watching him carefully.

"No nausea when you do that?"

"No. I'm a little queasy but it's constant, and it's not bad at all."

"Queasiness isn't unusual. Last bits of the rift distortion clearing out. Or maybe it's because you've been living on toast for half a week." He checked his pulse and frowned. "Might be able to clear you today, and just in time for us to not be in hyperspace anymore. Hell of a way to get out of work."

"Getting back to work will be nice," Sven protested mildly. "I enjoy my job." He took a sip of the soup and closed his eyes for a moment. "This is amazing."

Jace snorted. "You've been off real food for awhile, so I won't even tell you why you're wrong." Finally he moved over to the chair and sat… and nearly went to the floor as one of its legs buckled under. "…Oh _that's_ why you weren't using it."

"I would've told you but I was hoping you'd land on your butt."

The medic stared at him, then the corners of his lips twitched. "I like you when you're an asshole."

Sven rolled his eyes. "It happens on occasion."

With a snicker Jace dropped to sit on the floor next to him. "Rift sickness doesn't exactly relapse. It's looking good, but I'll need to give you a better checkup before I officially clear you, and there's no point doing that until you've eaten."

Apparently that meant he was going to have company for lunch. Truthfully, Sven didn't mind that. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Maybe more to the point, someone who actually wanted to talk to _him_. He'd learned very early on that what was normal in the world his parents had brought him up in was not at all normal in the _real_ world. It had always made socializing rather… awkward.

Being thrown together on a tiny starship was apparently a great way to get around that. Who knew?

"So how's the rest of the crew been?" he asked in between spoonfuls of soup. He _had_ been shut up in here for awhile.

"They've been very… themselves." Jace scowled. "Giant donut dude refuses to get out of my galley. Commander said I can't boot him, which is too bad. _He_ still needs a rectal exam to figure out what's stuck up there, but at least he's not causing any real trouble… did you catch that nasty turbulence earlier?"

Sven shot him a mildly reproachful look at the mention of rectal exams; he was _eating_. "No, I must have been asleep."

"Lucky you. McClain and the Chief are a _horrible_ influence on each other."

McClain being a horrible influence didn't sound like a stretch. "How's that?"

"Engineering's been monitoring hyperspace since you've been in here losing your guts. Kleid saw a major fluctuation, told McClain to avoid it. McClain asked why his precious engines couldn't handle a little fluctuation, Kleid told him to shut up and take it at top speed…" He gave a dramatic sigh.

Sven chuckled. "Sounds exciting."

"That's a word. Not the one I'd choose, but it's definitely a word."

"What word would you use?" Immediately after asking he suspected he'd regret it, and covered with another bite of soup. It really was _good_.

Jace eyed him slyly, considering the question. "…Burro como o caralho."

That was more than one word, but it didn't seem worth pointing out. Sven gave him a much more reproachful look. "I don't even want to know what that means."

"Yeah, probably not." Jace laughed, then leaned over to look at his book. "What, you don't ever swear in Viking?"

_Really?_ "Norwegian." Sven raised an eyebrow. "And no, I don't. Just because you can doesn't mean you should." Finishing up his soup, Sven took a bite out of his sandwich. "This is good too."

"Oh, good. At least _someone_ here appreciates food that's made with some semblance of concern for your health." Jace shook his head. "Pretty sure Garrett just dumps in the whole box of salt, and don't get me started on the calories…"

"I have a good joke on calories!" Sven remembered excitedly. That earned him a doubtful look from the medic. "What is a light-year?" He smiled, waiting for Jace to guess.

"What? I'm a medic, not a navigator," he grumbled in protest. "It's… some punchline that's gonna get you punched?"

"It’s the same as a regular year, but with less calories." Sven laughed, very proud of his joke.

True to his word, Jace punched him in the arm. Lightly. Maybe not as lightly as he _could've_ , but lightly. "Porra…" He made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Finish your sandwich, asshole. Boss wants you cleared so you can go find a map when we land."

Oh, right. Sven grinned excitedly and decided to forgo defending his joke, in favor of finishing his sandwich. "I almost forgot about that. I get to go find a map!"

"You're actually happy about that, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

"Crazy-ass Viking." Jace cocked his head. "Just don't get yourself beat up by some Terinian map-knights or anything."

Blink. "Terinian map-knights?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Seems like there oughta be something weird."

Sven chuckled. He'd done some advance research on their destination himself; it was part of the job. "The Terinians are a race that evolved from birds."

"Not weird. But doesn't mean they can't have map-knights." Jace scowled at him. "Just watch yourself out there, huh?"

"I will watch out for map-knights," Sven promised, shaking his head. He might have said something else, and if he hadn't his companion certainly would have, but before either of them could speak a violent shudder ran through the ship. As it died down, all sense of motion vanished; the turbulent forces of hyperspace were gone.

"…Guess we're in-system."

So it seemed. It would take them about two more days to reach Terina at sublight speeds, and that was two days Sven was eager to get started on. "Mind if we get this checkup over with?" He stood. "I'm itching to get back to work."

Jace gave him a sharp look. "Was that a metaphor? Because if you're really itching you might have bed sores and I _really_ don't like you enough to have to look at your ass unnecessarily."

Sven rolled his eyes. "No, I am not itching. I just really want to get back to work."

"Oh, that's a relief." Jace stood as well, running through the battery of tests Sven was well used to by now. More head movements, vitals, some stretches meant to throw off his equilibrium. Nothing he couldn't handle, for once. "Okay, you're clear. Here's some basic meds for the queasiness, one every two hours as needed."

The queasiness really wasn't at all bad, but not having it would be better; Sven took the pills gratefully. "Thank you! Now if it's alright with you, I'm going to get back to my monitors."

"Knock yourself out." Smirk. "Figuratively."

Sven laughed and headed out, the medic trailing behind him. So far, so good. Now to see what Terina had in store for them.

*****

The spaceport on Terina was not actually run by Terinians. The locals hadn't even developed powered flight yet, let alone spaceflight… of course the fact that they were essentially giant _birds_ might have something to do with that first part.

In any case, Terinians didn't have their own spaceflight, so their planet was connected to the outside universe by the Bataxi. Bataxi were small, clever saurians who worshipped a whole pantheon of commerce deities. They considered it their divine duty to provide primitive races with access to the interstellar community, should they so desire it.

Flynn hated having to deal with the Bataxi. It wasn't that they were unpleasant or difficult… it was just that their solemn invocations of the Great Merchant reminded him a bit too much of home.

A particularly tiny Bataxi with vivid blue scales was sitting on the counter at the maintenance station. The crest of silver horns told him she was female, and so she was in charge here; only the females could be merchants. A few dull blue males were scurrying about further back, working on what looked like a half-intact ion drive. He was a little surprised to see only the _one_ female minding the station, but then, this wasn't a very busy port.

"Great blessings of Spex to you, traveler!" she chirped as he approached. "Earthling, so you must be from… _Firecrown_ , landing field one, slot 6-J?"

Kogane hadn't been kidding about them sticking out. Flynn nodded, handing her a credit chip. "You got it. We need a full refuel and a type C fuel line." Pause. "Maybe not in that order."

She gave a clicking chuckle as she inspected the chip, then nodded in return. "The line is easily done. Will you need installation?"

"No, we've got that covered."

"Very good." She turned and looked over her shoulder, calling out in her harsh native tongue. One of the male Bataxi left the engine, vanishing through a door, and she returned her attention to him. "It will be delivered. As to the refueling, an inspection is needed."

As he'd expected. "Not a problem."

She nodded again, grabbing a datapad next to her with her tail and tapping in a few commands. "Twenty acha… no, Earthling, not Eakite, pardon it." A few more taps. "Half an hour."

Only half an hour? This might be the least busy spaceport he'd ever _seen_. "That's perfect, thank you."

She watched him carefully as he signed off on the receipt, then flipped the expended credit chip in the air. "Amulax sanctifies the end of this instrument," she declared, swatting it with her tail; it shattered into tiny fragments. Flynn grinned slightly. Destroying expended chips was one of the more entertaining Bataxi rituals. "May the Great Merchant bless all your transactions, traveler."

He muttered another thanks and left, exhaling slowly as he got back outside. That hadn't been so bad… back to business. "Kogane, we've got a fuel line on its way, and an inspector coming in half an hour."

"Understood. Will you be back by then?"

"I'll try, can't promise anything. Still need to arrange refilling the water tanks and a lot of other boring engineering things."

He could practically hear Kogane's eyebrow raise. "Boring engineering things?"

"They'd bore _you_." Smirk. "I mean if you'd really like a detailed list of all the basic maintenance a ship needs in port, clear your schedule for the next fifteen minutes and—"

"—That's alright. Do what you need to do, Kleid. Garrett and I will handle the inspection if you don't make it back."

Oh, he'd love to see that. "Alright." He flipped his comms off, looked around the spaceport, and shook his head. Time to go get the Great Merchant to bless their water supply.

*****

Sven stood in the airlock, waiting for Lance to show up. The navigator looked patient and calm, but really he was anything but. He was inwardly buzzing with excitement. He was about to walk around on an _alien planet_. He had a job of course—this wasn’t a pleasure trip, he had to acquire a map somehow—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy this greatly.

Intel at least had been able to come up with directions to a Terinian village near the spaceport, very near the edge of the mountains and the cloud cover that blocked out their site. It seemed like their best bet, surely someone on the ground had surveyed the mountains at some point. Surely they would have a map. This couldn't be that difficult.

He _hoped_ it wouldn't be too difficult…

Taking a deep breath soothed his nerves slightly. Lance had seemed confident enough. It was one of the reasons Sven had asked him to come along; hopefully Lance’s confidence would offset his own nervousness. That, and their pilot seemed to be much better at interacting with beings that were not… politically inclined… than Sven was. Between the two of them, surely they could convince the locals to give them what they needed. He sighed and shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of any anxiety that had started to bubble up. Everything would be fine.

Checking the time, Sven’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. Where _was_ Lance? They were supposed to depart three minutes—

"Hey Viking, ready to go get a map?" Lance asked, walking past him off the ship.

Following him down the ramp, Sven’s mouth quirked at the nickname. "Yes, I am." He made sure they were headed in the right direction, and after a few moments asked the question that had just been waiting to burst out of him. "If you don’t mind me asking, why do you call me Viking?"

Lance laughed. "It’s the broad shoulders, dude… _und,_ _vell_ , the obvious."

Sven gave a small laugh in response. "No, I know why you call me _Viking_ , I meant why nickname me at all? My name’s only four letters. One syllable."

"Huh? That it is, don’t know…" Lance paused to look him up and down. "Viking suits you though, unless you don’t like it?" The pilot laughed as a thought struck him. "We could go with Thor instead?"

"No, I think Viking works just fine, thank you." Sven truly didn’t mind the nickname, he kind of liked it actually. He just didn’t quite get the whole nicknaming thing.

"Viking it stays… so Viking!" Lance winked. "Got a game plan?" Looking around at their surroundings as they walked, he gave a small smile. "Oh, whoa this planet really is pretty."

"Well… not much of one, no. Just ask around and hope someone has a map." Sven took a moment to look around. "And yes, this planet is absolutely beautiful."

"Okay…" Looking ahead of them Lance smirked. "Find a bird, charm a bird?" As he asked a shadow appeared in front of them, and he looked up to see a Terinian flying overhead. He tracked it for a moment, spinning around as he did so. "Fucking awesome."

"This is amazing… you never see anything quite like that on Earth." Sven watched the Terinian in awe.

"Earth is boring, this is amazing." Lance stopped walking, noticing a Terinian walking ahead of them. "WHOA."

The Terinian female in front of them was a good foot taller than them, her blue feathery wings seeming almost to sparkle; they were wrapped around a basket filled with some weirdly shaped brown fruit. For a moment all Lance could do was stare, transfixed, then grabbed Sven's arm in excitement.

"We could ask—"

"—Dude, they’re _hot_."

"Um… I… uh… yes. They are," Sven babbled awkwardly.

"Yeah, we should ask her." Lance sprinted off towards her, waving to get her attention. "Uh, hi?"

"Hello," the Terinian responded, looking up from her basket. Sven came up behind Lance, remaining silent.

"I’m Lance, and this is Sven. Um, is it rude to compliment your feathers?" Lance gave her a friendly grin.

"No it’s not. It’s actually quite welcomed. Thank you."

"Welcome? Huh…" Lance’s grin became more flirty. "Well, oh, but I’m being rude anyway, what is your name?"

"Mihaela, and I’m sorry, I didn't quite catch your names." She quirked her head at the grin.

"Mihaela." Lance tested it out, and was sure he butchered it. "Mihaela, that’s fine, I’m Lance McClain and may I say your plumage is _beautiful_."

Mihaela found the mispronunciation of her name entertaining. Her name was actually quite common among Terinians, so she’d never heard someone say it wrong… then her eyes widened as she realized he was wooing her. Well, the human version of wooing. Maybe? She should compliment him back. "Your… cloth is very nice." Peeking over Lance to look at Sven, Mihaela realized he hadn’t spoken. Was he mute? "Does your friend not speak?"

Lance stood up straighter at her compliment, glowing a little bit, then turned to Sven. "Thank you. Yes he does, don’t you, Sven?"

"Um… yes, I do. I apologize, pleasure to meet you, Mihaela." Sven inwardly scolded himself. He was being rude. And Lance was giving him the _dude needs to loosen up_ side-eye he was fairly used to.

"It is nice to meet the both of you." Mihaela chirped happily.

"Actually, we were wondering if you could help us with something?" Sven asked, hoping they could get back to the matter at hand.

"What a great chirp!" Lance interjected at the same time. So much for that.

"Thank you!" Mihaela chirped for him again. She quirked her head once again, she had never heard that compliment before. Most of the males she was used to usually just admired her feathers, and offered to prune them. Humans had such odd mating rituals.

"No, thank you for sounding so lovely." Lance paused, remembering that flirting with the beautiful Terinian was a secondary mission. "Sven’s right though, we’re looking for something."

"I’ll help if I can. What is it?" she asked, shifting her basket to her side and holding it with one wing. Lance eyed the glittering feathers and resisted the urge to ask to touch them. There was a time and a place, and this wasn’t it.

"We’re looking for a map. Specifically a map of the northern mountains, beneath the clouds. Do you know where we could find one?" Sven asked hopefully.

Mihaela’s eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why would you want to go there? There isn't anything there but the old ruins."

Old ruins? _That_ sounded promising. "We’re explorers, and we’re curious. We'd love to see these ruins, they sound interesting." Lance smiled. The best lies always had a bit of truth in them.

_Interesting?_ Mihaela ruffled her feathers slightly, then smoothed them back out. _Humans are odd_. "Alright… well, if it’s a way to those ruins you're looking for, you’ll need to see Ioan. He knows all about those sorts of things." She made a sound that seemed like the chirped version of a _pfft_. "He lives slightly west of the village." She thought about warning them about Ioan’s… _oddness_ , but the humans seemed quite odd themselves. _They may not even notice._

"Thank you!" Sven smiled.

"Mihaela, I enjoyed meeting you." Lance smiled too, though his was decidedly more flirty. "Thank you for all the help."

"I have enjoyed meeting you as well." Mihaela chirped. The two men nodded and started walking away. "Oh, Lance! Before you go may I offer some advice?"

Lance turned around, the smile right back on his face. "Of course!"

"You are a very delightful man, well practiced in the art of wooing… but in the future when trying to win over a mate, you should sing or dance. And wear brighter colors. I find it helps draw their eyes to you," Mihaela offered helpfully.

Sven’s eyes widened; Lance just smirked. "Really? This is useful information, Mihaela. I’ll consider it carefully."

Mihaela just chirped cheerfully. _Such a pleasant man, odd, but pleasant._ She walked past the humans to continue on with her business.

Lance nudged Sven after she was out of earshot. "She liked me! Despite," he paused to look at his leather jacket, "my brown drabby-ness. Do you think they’d like 1980s rock ballads?"

"It seems she did. And I, um, I’m not sure." Sven shrugged. 1980s rock ballads were not his area of expertise.

"I’m sure they would…" He glanced at a few Terinians that were passing by, hazel eyes full of admiration. "You know, the pictures the Alliance has of Terinians really do _not_ do them justice."

"No, they do not. They really are quite stunning," Sven agreed.

"Extremely… I need to learn birdsong, think they sell music?"

"I’m not sure, maybe we can ask Ioan," Sven suggested, trying to put them back on track again. "So, slightly west of the village." He checked the questionable map he had gotten from the Alliance records. Pointing in the direction he was semi-sure they had to go, he looked back at Lance and motioned for him to follow. "This Ioan man… bird, should be a little ways that way."

"Lead the way, Viking! Hopefully he’s as nice as Mihaela." Lance winked at him.

Both men kept in the direction Sven had pointed out, and soon they came upon an old trail that seemed to be going in the right direction. It was overrun by small shrubs, and obviously hadn’t been used in awhile. They hadn’t been on the trail long when they came upon a couple of run down wooden shacks, one looking just a tad less run down then the other.

"West of the village…" Sven looked around. "This should be it."

"Well, that hut looks empty, so it must be this one…" Lance reasoned, looking between the two. Sven nodded in agreement as he walked up to the door. After a short pause he gave a few hard and loud knocks. Almost immediately there was a small crash from within the hut, and a moment after that they heard someone through the door.

"Come in!" It was muffled, but still audible. Lance gave Sven a look before pushing through the door. Sven walked in right behind him… and practically squawked in horror at the room that was _obviously_ sent from hell to haunt him for the rest of his life.

It was a small one-room shack with bookcases lining the walls, not that there were many books in them. Most seemed to be strewn about on the floor. Some had obviously ripped up pages. Some were in small unorganized piles. Others seemed to have odd colored gunk on them. In the center of the room there was a wooden desk, papers and journals covering its surface, and a plate dead center with what Sven _hoped_ was just rotten fruit.

He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, repeating the action several times before a Terinian popped out from behind the desk. His green and brown feathers were askew, a few even flew off of him as he moved. His eyes connected with theirs for a moment before darting up and down to take in the rest of them.

"Oooooo Earthlings!" He flapped his wings excitedly, quite a few more feathers flying off of him in the process. "Hello."

Lance tried not to make a face at the mess, or the greeting. He looked the bird man up and down; all the Terinians seemed beautiful to him, but this guy was definitely on the more ruffled side of things. "Uh, yeah, we’re Earthlings. Hi, um, Ioan?" he asked, seeing as Sven was still silently recovering from the mess around him.

"Yes, that is me. And you two are?" Ioan asked, flapping his wings slightly.

"I’m Lance, he’s Sven… Mihaela thought you could help us."

Sven was still gaping at the mess when he was introduced, but seemed to snap out of it when he heard his name. Lance gave him a nudge, he was in charge of the map after all. Looking up, Sven gave the bird man his full attention. It was better than looking at anything else in here, anyway.

"Ahhh! Mihaela, such a nice woman. Brings me some of her crop every so often." Ioan once again flapped his wings happily. "I should really catch up with her…"

"Yes, she is lovely. We’re looking for a map, and she directed us to you." Sven said before the Terinian could go off on a tangent. He was still coaching himself to ignore the carnage around him.

"A map! To where, my dark-haired human?" Ioan asked excitedly.

"To the old ruins in the northern mountains."

Ioan's excitement rapidly gave way to confusion. "Hmph. Why would you wish to go there?" There wasn’t much curiosity in his voice. "It’s truly a very boring place."

"We’re explorers," Lance explained with a winning smile.

"Do you know how to get there?" Sven asked hopefully. They'd come for a map, not his approval— _now I sound like Jace_. He resolved to try not to ever do that again.

"Explorers? Oh how very exciting. And yes, I do." After he spoke Ioan just stared at them, not moving. Lance and Sven exchanged a look.

"So, um, do you have a map?" Lance asked after an awkward silence.

"To the ruins? Yes! I made one long ago," Ioan began shuffling around, opening drawers and flipping through various books, "but that was back before I knew how boring it was." He shook his head. Silly humans. Explorers were supposed to go to exciting places, not dull ones.

Lance took a deep breath, watching, and realizing this might take a little work. "What’s that book you’re…" _Tearing through_. "Reading?" he asked tactfully.

Ioan eyed him, seemingly annoyed. Or maybe he just thought they were stupid. "I am not reading." He rolled his eyes. "I am looking for that map. As I said, very boring, made it a long time ago. Not sure where…" After pausing for a moment his eyes widened. "Oh yes!" Picking up a very tattered-looking journal, the bird man ripped out a page from it. "Here you are." He held it out to them, nearly pushing it into the rotted fruit.

"Thank you." Sven sighed in relief and took the map, careful not to touch the fruit.

Lance eyed the fruit with a wary eye. _Nasty_. "So it was… interesting meeting you Ioan." He offered one more smile before turning to leave.

"Wait! Don’t you want to hear the warning I found on the entrance to the ruins?"

Lance eyed Sven, who was fighting down an audible groan. They were so close. "What warning?" He wanted to leave this shack, badly, but figured a warning was likely to be important. Possibly even more important than getting out of this mess… possibly.

"One moment." Ioan began scribbling on a black piece of paper, then handed it to them. Sven took it and barely held back another groan. _Cai cu intanție rea vor fi pededsiți de fiae în nori._ What was that? How was a warning in a language he didn't even remotely recognize going to help them?

"Achoo?" Lance mumbled, reading over Sven's shoulder. "What does that mean?" He was going to regret asking, he just knew it.

Ioan stared at him and gestured towards the paper. It was right in front of him.

Lance’s eye twitched but he kept his mouth shut. Sven intervened before he could change his mind on that. "Do you happen to have this in English?" he asked politely.

"Yes of course! I do speak English." Ioan’s feathers ruffled a little more than they already were.

Sven sighed. As annoying as this guy was, he was nowhere near as bad as some of the people he had been forced to mingle with in the past. That was how he managed to keep his tone polite even as Lance's grin became strained. "May we have it?"

"Yes you may." Ioan read it out loud as he wrote it down for them. "Those with evil intent will be punished by the beasts in the clouds."

"Beasts?" The word flew out of Lance’s mouth without thinking.

"Yes. Beasts." Ioan rolled his eyes once again. _Humans_. "Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do. You have your map, and your warning. Be on your way." The bird man made a shooing motion with his wings.

"Of course." Sven was glad to finally leave, as was Lance. Once they were clear of the door he was sure they were out of ear shot Lance grumbled, "Mihaela was definitely the better experience." Pausing for a moment a thought struck him, and he gave a small shudder. "I think he was molting."

"It was definitely an experience." Sven agreed. "That entire hut was…" He shuddered. "Disgusting. I feel like I need a shower."

"Was a mess, wasn’t it? And that fruit." Lance gave another small shudder, then laughed weakly. "Odd bird, that one, huh?"

"Definitely odd, yes, but at least we have a map. And an obscure warning, because what map to old ruins is complete without an obscure warning?" Sven laughed too.

"Speaking of which, that map look legit?" Lance smirked. "And isn’t it just a general map thing to have a dire warning?"

Sven looked down at the map, giving it a careful examination. "Yes it seems…" He paused, getting ready to try out the word. "Legit." Lance grinned at that, and Sven side-eyed him for his other question. "The maps I usually deal with don't have that sort of thing… well, they have warnings, but those are more along lies of 'this particular route includes a high risk of running into gravitational wells.' Not 'there are beasts in the clouds.'"

Lance shook his head at the word ‘beasts’. The only creatures around here so far were the Terinians, and they didn’t look all that beastly to him. Slapping a hand on Sven’s shoulder, he decided they may as well celebrate a job well done. "Well, that was a piece of cake, we deserve a beer."

"I’ve never had a beer," Sven said absently.

Lance turned to him, his smile replaced with shock and horror. _"What?"_

Sven shrunk back slightly. _Oh no._ Had he said something wrong? "I’m sorry, have I offended you somehow?" He _always_ ended up weirding people out. Whether his mannerisms, the fact that he went to finishing school, or apparently how he’d never had a beer. It was always something.

But Lance looked confused at his apology. "What? Me? No, I’m offended for _you!_ I thought Vikings got hair on their chests from grog or whatever, and you’ve never had a beer? Why? _How?"_

"You know I’m not an actual Viking right?" Sven asked, side-eyeing him again. "Beers were not an acceptable choice of alcohol at the political functions I’ve had to attend, and I just never drank much outside of those." The wine they served was the only thing that had made those events semi-tolerable.

"Political functions?" Lance gave a snort. "Now that sounds like something that is fucking _boring_."

"Very, very boring."

"Well don’t worry, I’ve brought enough beer to introduce you to it."

Sven looked at him, grinning excitedly. "I’m glad, I’d love to be introduced."

"I’ll hold a tutorial sometime, you aren’t the only one who needs lessons." He thought about Flynn—but at least he'd had it before. What was with this crew, anyway? Then again, what other mission would give him the chance to give beer lessons? "You know, getting put on an Explorer Team was kind of a goal of mine and it hasn't let me down yet."

Now Sven smiled wide. Finally someone as happy to be here as him! "Getting off Earth has been a wish of mine for a long time, and I have most certainly not been disappointed." Excitement had leaked into his voice.

Lance grinned at him and threw an arm around his shoulders. "Right? New worlds, beautiful aliens." He shot a wink at a Terinian with purple feathers as it passed them.

Sven awkwardly accepted the arm as the spaceport came into their line of sight. Once again his mind went back to the mission. "We should get this map to the Commander."

"Yeah we better. He can figure out if we dare ignore that warning," Lance smirked. Sven just smiled.

*****

Inspections could vary radically between planets. Keith had heard horror stories. It wasn't like the Alliance, where you knew exactly what they wanted to check out before they ever set foot in your berth. Independent worlds each had their own concerns. One planet's contraband could be another's key import, and some authorities didn't care about your cargo at all—but emissions or fuel composition? That they cared about.

Intel said there was 'nothing substantially concerning' about Terinian inspection routines… whatever that meant.

The inspectors arrived precisely on schedule. Three of them were Bataxi, a deep indigo female with a pair of males flanking her. Trailing just behind them was what could only be a Terinian. It was easily seven feet tall—eight if you counted the huge wings folded behind its back, bright gold and shimmering in the sunlight. It was nearly as skinny as its saurian companions, though they only came up to its waist; the rest of its lanky body was covered in fine flame-orange down. Its sharp red eyes peered at them over a hooked black beak, and it spread its wings wide as it reached them.

"Greetings, _Firecrown_. I am Portguard Taeshalach, the Inspector General. We shan't inconvenience you long." Then it looked down at Keith and Hunk. "And warm greetings to you, children of the _Firecrown_. Might I know your names?"

It took them a moment to fully register that the Terinian had been talking to their _ship_. They exchanged glances, then Keith stepped forward and bowed; formality seemed like the right thing to go with here. "The _Firecrown_ thanks you for your warm welcome, Portguard Taeshalach. I am Commander Keith Kogane, and with me is Senior Specialist Tsuyoshi Garrett."

Grimacing, Hunk looked between the ship, the bird, and the boss. He _really_ hadn't expected to be part of this process at all, and was still none too sure how he felt about it. "…Uh, you can just call me Hunk." The boss gave him a _look_ ; he shrugged. "What?"

Taeshalach made a whistling sound that seemed to be laughter. Then he looked away a moment in response to a comment from one of the male Bataxi, responding in a wholly different language.

"Should I have hid the chicken soup?" Hunk whispered uneasily.

Keith blinked. "I think we should be okay, as long as they don't…" Then exactly what he'd just been asked fully sank in, and he glared. "Don't go there."

Hunk shrugged again.

The inspector finished whatever he'd been saying to the Bataxi and returned his attention to Keith. "Commander, you speak for the ship, then?"

"Yes sir, I do. I'm the…" He paused, trying to decide what exactly to say here. The Alliance's knowledge of Terinian etiquette wasn't much deeper than its knowledge of the geography. "…I'm the oldest of the _Firecrown_ 's children. If you would come aboard, we'd be happy to get this inspection over with so you can go about your day."

The Terrinian nodded, following them through the main hatch. "We understand you've requested a new fuel line."

"Yes, sir. We went through a spatial rift and lost one of ours."

"A rift?" He cocked his head and chirped softly. "Impressive. We get few here who are quite that… mad. Is it an Earthling tendency?"

"You've got no _idea_ ," Hunk muttered under his breath.

Keith glared at him again, mostly on principle; he backed off sheepishly and nearly tripped over the female Bataxi behind them. _Yeah. Madness_. Remembering Lance's laughter as they went through the rift, Keith couldn't much argue the point. But they _really_ didn't need to tell the inspector that. "Some Earthlings do suffer from… madness, on occasion. But the rift reduced our travel time, and saving that time and fuel was important for us."

Taeshalach gave a knowing nod. "We respect efficiency. We were told your ship healers would be installing the line, but our friends from the Great Merchant must be allowed to watch, or at least to examine it when it is done."

_Interesting_. Interesting, but not objectionable, Keith supposed. Of course it wasn't his shoulder they'd be looking over. "I'm sure our ship healers can work with that. In fact…" _Oh, what the hell._ "…Hunk, here, is one of those healers. It won't be a problem, will it Hunk?"

The engineer looked much less than enthused with that, but at this point it served him right. An instant later he shook it off. "Uh, yeah, no problem! I mean, we totally know how to do a fuel line but it's always good to have someone double check."

"I mean no offense, Mr. Hunk." Taeshalach nodded seriously. "But we shan't be responsible for allowing a ship to leave our world without our full satisfaction that it will survive to its next destination. You understand."

Hunk understood, though he was a lot more worried about not cracking up at what the bird man had just called him. Even the boss was visibly biting his cheek to hold back the grin. "Yeah, totally understand!"

"Commander, if we might see the cargo bay first? Terina adheres to the Form 6 standardized contraband restrictions."

That really didn't seem so bad. Keith nodded. "Absolutely. Right this way, please." He led the group through the inner hatch, noting the inspector folding his wings around himself in the narrow corridor. Hunk trailed behind, taking more note of the female Bataxi; she was carrying some sort of scanner that looked more sophisticated than anything they had available. It worried him a bit, but he'd gotten in enough trouble already today, so he kept quiet.

The cargo bay was nearly empty. A neat stack of crates secured in one corner held some dry goods and spare parts, and the opposite corner held a few partitions, empty boxes, and an extra mattress. Taeshalach looked around the emptiness and unfurled his wings. "Traveling light, I see."

Keith nodded again—he seemed to be doing a lot of that, but it wouldn't help anything _not_ to be agreeable. "We like to keep our ship weight down. Helps with fuel efficiency on takeoff." He _had_ said they respected efficiency, after all.

"Indeed." The inspector's red eyes fixed on him. "What precisely brings you to Terina, Commander? You clearly aren't a trader, and this is hardly a leisure craft."

_That_ was a question he'd been expecting. Obviously the truth was right out. "Humans are a very curious race," he explained. "Mainly we're out here charting and looking for local maps. There's still much we aren't fully familiar with out here in what we call the Rim. With better maps and star charts, we hope to be able to conduct more trade and travel in the future. If local races are open to it, of course."

It was a lie, but maybe it wasn't that much of one. They were called an _Explorer_ Team.

"Ah, I see." The inspector shook his feathers slightly. "It _has_ been some time since a surveyor ship from your Alliance came to the port." As he spoke he leaned over to study the labels on the crates, motioning for the Bataxi to scan them.

Keith couldn't quite read that tone, and the feather shake could mean anything. "I do hope the last surveyor ship didn't upset you and your people…"

"I recall them being most polite. But rushed." He straightened. "All seems to be in order here. Now, there must be food storage? You understand we must check any storage areas. And then we'd like a look at your engine bay."

A very nervous look flickered over Hunk's face for a moment. Keith shot him a warning glare. If he said anything about chicken soup… "Yes, we understand. It's off our galley, and we will stop at the engine bay after that. This way, please."

As he trailed behind them, Hunk thought he heard something further back in the corridor. Glancing back he couldn't see anything, but… this whole inspection routine was _unsettling_ , and the boss didn't seem to like jokes, and he'd be really glad when it was over.

Keith opened up the cold storage as soon as they reached the galley, and the inspector stepped back immediately. "Ah… Elgani, if you'd attend to this…" He wrapped his wings tightly around himself and retreated further as the Bataxi moved forward.

That wasn't good. "I'm sorry, sir… is... something wrong?"

"It's nothing, Commander. We are meant to keep our wings in the sun."

"Ah." He hadn't even thought about that; he needed to be more careful. "I apologize."

They were interrupted by the Bataxi, flicking her tail as she investigated the storage lockers. "Your murder pepper sauce isn't very well-hidden. I assume you don't mean to survey any Form 4 or 7 planets."

Keith blinked, then exchanged uncomfortable looks with Hunk, who'd gone rather pale. "No ma'am."

"Or at least we sure ain't _now_."

She chuckled; it was an odd clicking sound. "Altensi be with you if you do." There was a pause as something she was carrying beeped softly. It wasn't the scanner. "Portguard, my brothers require me." She handed the scanner to the inspector and scurried out past Hunk.

Keith looked after her curiously. He knew _of_ the Bataxi, but he'd never encountered one in person; his prior postings had all been on warships, and Alliance combat vessels had little cause to stop at independent spaceports. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her, let alone her disappearance. It made him a bit nervous… but he didn't have any experience with civilian inspection routines, either. He wasn't going to say anything.

In any case Taeshalach took it in stride, only ruffling his wings slightly as she departed. "The engine bay, then. Only for a scan; I leave the mechanical inspections to our friends from the Great Merchant."

"This way." Keith led him back to the bay, keyed in the access code, and winced at what he saw. Either as part of the system rerouting or in preparation for the fuel line, it seemed the engineers had ripped a lot of the floor up. "I apologize for the mess… apparently the ship healers have been busy." He glanced back at Hunk, who shrugged again.

The inspector rustled his wings again. "We respect nests which are filled with activity. I shan't judge what you call a 'mess'. In fact, your healers keep it quite lovely compared to many vessels we've seen here."

Blink. "Well… thank you. They do take pride in their work."

"We try," Hunk chuckled, then grinned and dropped his voice. "And we're gonna remind you of that _forever_ , boss."

Keith grimaced, watching the Terrinian scanning the bay. "If you have any questions, Hunk is more than able to answer them." That got him a deeply unappreciative look that _definitely_ served him right at this point.

"Mr. Hunk, might you open the shafts for me?"

"Uh…" It was still all Hunk could do to maintain the pout the was aiming at the boss instead of cracking up; he hurried over to the engine shafts. "Yeah, sure!" _That's right. Stick to the engines. Definitely where you need to be inspecting_. "Anything else you wanna know?"

"I think not. The Bataxi will be better suited for such questions. All seems to be in order here…" The inspector's comms beeped, and he clicked his beak sharply.

It didn't seem like a pleasant click, but this was an alien, who knew? Hunk eyed him warily. "So is that a good beep your scanner's makin'?" _Please be a good beep…_

Taeshalach gave him a piercing look he didn't like at all, but his response was unexpected. "When we return, what lies on the other side of the cargo bay?"

Blink. "Uh… it's just the crew rooms and the conference room. And the bridge, obviously."

"Obviously." He ruffled his feathers. "Elgani is reporting a troubling reading from there. We need only check where the scans are indicating a problem, but we must see."

"Oh… of course." Keith nodded, then gave Hunk a look of concern. For his own part Hunk had a bad feeling about this… he'd thought he would be relieved once they got out of the bay, but apparently not so much.

All three of the Bataxi were gathered outside the conference room door. "Inside of here," Elgani declared as they approached. "The voice of Xor whispers grave concerns."

_Xor?_ Hunk had no idea who or what that was, but he suspected he knew what the problem here was. From the boss's expression, so did he.

"Commander, may we see?" Taeshalach's words may still have been formal, but his tone made it clear enough it wasn't a request.

Keith nodded and opened the door, revealing the conference room. And the bloodstain. And the epitaph on the wall.

_Well, hell._

"Organic," Elgani declared as she approached the stain with her scanner, then she raised her head. "You have… ripped Bob?"

_Well, double hell._

The inspector unfurled his wings, giving them both a sharp look. "I trust one of you can explain this?"

Hunk looked at the boss, who seemed frozen. Looked like it was up to him, then. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. " _Firecrown_ 's gotta eat too…"

Unfortunately, Keith hadn't been as frozen as he'd thought. At the exact same moment he answered solemnly, "My… older brother… met an unfortunate end some time ago…" He trailed off, scowling at a wincing Hunk, then decided maybe the truth was just as simple after all. "…to be perfectly honest we don't know anything about that. It happened before we were with the _Firecrown_. Someone just thought it would be funny," he glared at Hunk again, "to write that on the wall in hopes that whoever met their demise would rest in peace…"

"Maybe it was the last inspector who asked too many questions?" the big man suggested under his breath.

Mercifully, neither of the inspectors seemed to hear him. Even more mercifully, Elgani had been running more advanced scans as they stumbled over each other; now she looked up and flicked her tail. "Portguard, it is petroleum-based. I believe it is Earthling hydraulic fluid."

Keith closed his eyes as Hunk let out a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, good."

The Terinian looked between them and made a confused whistling sound. "Commander, Mr. Hunk… I shan't even attempt to make sense of what you've told me about this. If you would consent to the Bataxi inspecting your floor here, to ensure the leak is no longer active, I believe this inspection is concluded to our satisfaction."

"Earthlings' imaginations can get… carried away," Keith offered weakly. "But yes, they're welcome to. Aren't they, Hunk?"

"Totally." Hunk nodded. "But uh, any chance they can do it like, right away? Pit boss—uh—the boss healer ain't gonna like hearin' that whoever had this ship before us sprang a hydraulic leak in here."

Taeshalach folded his wings again. "I see no reason why not."

Elgani gave a clicking chuckle and barked something unintelligible at the two males; they scurried in and pried up the floor panels with practiced claws. Hunk gave a low whistle of surprise, and Keith made a mental note to never, _ever_ anger a Bataxi.

"All is well," Elgani declared after a few minutes of checking the lines. "Xor smiles upon this vessel."

… _I assume that's a good thing, if he's smiling_. Keith nodded hesitantly. "Um, thank you. I hope he continues to do so."

She flicked her tail again as the males returned the floor panel to its place. "We will return with the fuel line to look over the installation. Until then, may the Great Merchant bless all your transactions, Earthlings."

"I shall depart as well, then." Taeshalach made that whistling laugh again. "Commander, Mr. Hunk, I wish you success in your surveying project."

"Thank you."

"Thanks, and uh, happy port-guarding!"

Keith waited for them to be long gone, listening for the echoing thuds of both hatches closing, before sinking into one of the chairs and exhaling deeply. Hunk looked down at him and arched an eyebrow. "Your older brother, huh?"

Wince. "I was under duress."

"First thing you come up with under duress is a dead brother? Dude." Hunk dropped into the chair opposite him. "You're a cheery one, ain't ya?"

Oh no he didn't. "How about you? Hiding the chicken soup, saying we're all mad, never mind the last inspector who asked too many questions! We could be sitting in an alien prison right now if that had been real blood."

"…Dude, I ain't used to dealin' with aliens." He blushed. "And I was kinda under duress too, was sure they were gonna find my bombs there while they were checkin' out the bay."

Keith blinked, then muttered a few choice words under his breath. "We probably could have passed those off as self defense, at least… you _hid_ them?" Of course a civilian ship carrying military explosives would raise questions, but he'd figured Hunk could _answer_ them.

"Boss, you got any idea what I'm haulin' here? Octanitrocubane ain't self defense! ONC is for bringin' the _booms!"_ He paused for a moment. "And uh, it's totally restricted under Form 6."

That was something he really would have appreciated knowing before now. Apparently their bomb tech was far more devious than he let on. "Well it's good that they didn't find them, then."

"They weren't gonna. I know my job, boss." He grinned, then shook his head. "Hydraulic fluid. That ain't fun. Maybe the old line's name was Bob."

Keith stared at him for a very long moment before giving in and chuckling. "Yeah, maybe."

"Well, anyway, guess we're all set until the fuel line and the pit boss get here." Hunk leaned back in his chair. "…You want some chicken soup?"

Glare. "Get back to work, Garrett." He wadded up a tissue and tossed it at him.

"Fine, fine." Hunk caught the tissue and sulked. "Well _I_ am gonna eat lunch first. Your loss!"

"You do that. And if you see Kleid before I do, tell him to come see me. I'd like to have some words with him about Bob."

"Will do, boss!" Hunk jumped up and shot him a casual salute, then took off down the corridor.

Keith closed his eyes, savoring the silence for a few moments. He wasn't especially pleased with his performance today; his previous assignments hadn't at all prepared him for this sort of thing. _You're going to have to get the hang of it. Quickly_.

Sighing, he took out his datapad and started searching for a briefing on port inspections.

*****

The Forest of Altair was an enormous expanse of wilderness, stretching from the mainland of the Seven Isles into the neighboring Crown Province, ending in the shadow of the Castle of Lions itself. Legend had it there was a hidden road somewhere, connecting the Seven Isles' royal manor with the castle, but it could no longer be used. For reasons.

There were _many_ legends around the forest.

Larmina had grown up hearing the stories. Tales of monstrous beasts roaming the forest, hunting down anyone who dared encroach on their domain. Banewolves, they were called… huge, cunning predators twisted from normal Arusian forest wolves during the War of Golden Revival. Nobody knew exactly how or why they'd come to exist. They only knew they rendered the forest off limits to any Arusian, and those who attempted to hunt down the banes of the forest never returned.

She'd been very young when she'd first snuck out to the forest, hoping for a glimpse of the mythical creatures. What did she care about danger? Adults said everything was dangerous. She'd spent hours wandering through the trees, watching and listening for any sign.

No banewolves.

That was the day the forest had become her secret sanctuary. If everyone else was frightened off by legends, that left it all for her. And right now she needed to be somewhere, anywhere, that could pass as a sanctuary.

Dining etiquette class had gone… poorly.

_Keep your shoulders straight!_

_Don't use a knife to cut your bread!_

_That fork is only there for decoration!_

_Know what? Bite me._

Nanny had nearly chased her out of the room.

Maybe—no, probably—she should've gone to see Aunt Allura about it. But Auntie was surely busy with something important, and surely wouldn't want to hear more of her opinions on all this royal nonsense, so the forest it was. She could say she was working on her royal mystery again.

She wasn't.

"Stupid duty," Larmina grumbled, kicking a few dead branches aside as she forged through the trees. "Stupid title. Stupid responsibilities. Stupid Big Fat Arusian nobility…"

Nothing with Nanny was going well, really. Admittedly, she wasn't trying all that hard. It wasn't _fair_. She knew what she was, and she knew her place—no claim to anything, no value of her own. Just a pretty little political pawn to be married off to some good Son of Arus. Fine. The grand noble tradition of Arus wanted her to be a trophy? She didn't have to make it easy. In fact, she was sorely tempted to find the mythical forest road and just go home right now.

As the thought crossed her mind, a wind whispered through the trees. Larmina had always been calmed by the wind. But something about this wind was different… a deep, low growl was echoing beneath the rustling of the leaves.

A banewolf? It would just figure that they'd be in _this_ part of the forest. But somehow, she didn't quite think so. The growl seemed to penetrate her whole body, echoing in her chest in a way that was somehow both inviting and deeply unsettling.

Whatever thoughts she'd had about finding the road seemed to simply flutter away on the breeze.

_What was that?_ Some kind of omen? She wasn't certain if she believed in such things, no matter what King Alfor had said. But she wasn't fully certain she wanted to tempt fate right now, either—no more than she already was. Maybe she would go find Auntie after all…

"Stupid royal forest not being any help at all," she grumbled, and the wind whistled again. As she reached the edge of the trees, she turned back and glared into the darkness for a few moments. The forest failing to comfort her felt like a personal betrayal, somehow.

That growl echoed again. She didn't like it.

_Golden Gods, or whoever you are, if you're trying to send me a message? How about you get me out of this stupid ball first, then we can talk about… whatever else._

Scowling, she returned to the castle.


	7. The First Whispers

Mountains generally weren't a great place to try to land an HTHL ship, and the ruin site was no different. The closest place to put the _Firecrown_ down had been just on the edge of the overcast. It would be a bit of a hike, but nothing to be done for it…

They gathered in the conference room before setting out. RIP Bob was gone from the wall; in its place was a small plaque. Or really a spare armor scrap haphazardly engraved by some machine tool, but whatever worked.

**Here lie the remains of an innocent hydraulic line that some idiots somehow managed to destroy. IN THEIR BEDROOM.**

**Requiescat in pace.**

Keith could guess who was responsible for that one, too.

At Jace's insistence, they were wearing the biometric wristbands. At least they really weren't so bad on their own. "You people be careful out there." He looked at Hunk, dark eyes sharp. "Even you, dumbass."

Grin. "I'm always careful, Doc."

"Stay by the comms, Gregory. We'll check in on the hour."

Nod. "Will do."

"I guess that's everything, then." Keith looked around at the others. "Let's go."

They were an intimidating mix at the moment, bristling with guns and knives and… well, backpacks. Hunk had the biggest backpack, and it was already stuffed full. "Got enough bombs?" Lance asked as they filed down the ramp.

" _Never_ enough bombs, bro." He grinned and gave a thumbs up as Lance chuckled.

Keith moved to the head of the group. "Holgersson, you've got the map ready?"

"Yes sir." Sven unfolded the paper, looking around to get his bearings, then indicated a narrow path overgrown with some kind of scrubby vines. "That way."

"Take point. Lance, you've got our six."

"Sure, I got your six, boss." Lance stared pointedly at Keith's six with a grin that only widened as their commander blushed furiously. Flynn snickering as he fell in next to him didn't help much.

"Okay, let's _move_ , people…"

The overcast was every bit as thick as advertised; it was almost hard to believe it was daytime. It was a bit windy, a bit chilly, and more than a bit ominous. So it didn't take long for the chatter to start.

"Beware of beasts."

"According to the warning only those with evil intent have to worry about the beasts, Lance."

"Viking, dude. I'm evil!"

"And we _are_ probably gonna blow some stuff up…"

"And loot the place."

"Yeah, that too."

"Quiet down," Keith ordered. "We don't know who might be in the vicinity."

Lance shrugged. "Got the feeling the locals find this place dull."

"Doesn't matter. If we were seen coming down here, they might send someone to investigate." And that would ruin all their fine, if painfully underhanded, work in leaving atmosphere and reentering outside of radar coverage. They did _not_ want to answer questions about their real mission here. "Best to be quick and quiet."

"How far is this place?" Hunk whispered after a stretch of silence. The narrow mountain paths didn't afford them much view of where they were headed.

"We have about another mile and a half to go." Sven had his eyes glued to the map, seemingly unconcerned about the shifty terrain beneath their feet as he took them left at a crossroads.

"That ain't so bad…" Hunk started to add something about the scenery, looked at the boss, and decided to shut his mouth.

Lance, on the other hand, had never been much good at keeping his mouth shut. "You know, once you've seen one mountain you've seen them all."

Oh well if someone _else_ was taking the heat for it… "Ain't even a little true, bro. There's all kinds of mountains!"

"Rocks. It's all just rocks." That got him a look of deep disagreement from Sven, though he was following Keith's orders and staying quiet.

Hunk still wasn't. "Uh-uh. Some mountains have trees, yeah? And other ones have bushes like this place. Or rivers. Or skiing. Or secret underground military bases."

That got _him_ a raised eyebrow from Flynn, but Lance just laughed. "And all of them have rocks!"

"What've you got against rocks?" Flynn asked. He'd personally have preferred just rocks.

Keith, relaxing a bit as they moved further without anyone coming after them, smirked. "Besides a head full of them?"

"Ha, funny," Lance snorted. "Actually I've got nothing against rocks, just prefer the air to the ground."

"Can't go wrong with rocks," Hunk agreed. "Especially the heavy metal kind."

"Well, that's a totally different kind of rock."

"The very best!"

Sven winced at the conversation. He really didn't want to even think about listening to any more of Hunk's music. And the silence around them was bothering him… the local wildlife should have been making noise. With such a large group passing through there should have been warning calls, rustling in the bushes as they ran away, _something_.

As the conversation wound down it seemed the others were starting to share his opinion. Lance was looking around sharply, and Flynn was moving nearly on autopilot, listening for any hint of a sound. Which led to him nearly running right over Keith as he froze.

"Kogane?"

"Shhh." He could've sworn he'd seen a flicker of movement between the jagged rocks… watching carefully, he couldn't see anything more, and waved for the others to continue. "Thought I saw something. Keep your eyes open."

"Wide open, boss." Lance kept his voice low. "Something is up."

They were moving more slowly now, ready on their weapons. Except for Hunk, anyway. He wasn't accustomed to carrying a service weapon—his old unit had worked well behind the lines—and was much more comfortable with fireworks than firearms. So he'd left his gun on the ship, and now he was regretting it. Lots. Not like he was the biggest target here, or anything.

_It's just rocks. Totally just rocks._

He'd barely finished the thought when something huge and gray detached from the rocks and sprang at him, slamming him to the ground beneath a heap of tusks and claws.

"Ow!" Something had cut deep into his arm, no time to worry about _what_. "Dude, _not cool!_ " Getting his bearings he shifted and kicked the big gray thing off, sending it flying back in the direction it had come from.

"What the…?"

"Fuck me."

"Do you ever think about anything _else_ , Lance?"

"One track mind…"

At least two people shot at the thing as it went flying; by the time Hunk righted himself it was bleeding and snarling as the others trained their weapons on it. It looked like some bizarre crossbreed of boar and cheetah: a stocky black and gray feline-ish beast with thick fur and four razor sharp tusks. Oh, and it had taken two bullets and mostly just seemed mad about it. _Awesome_.

Then at least half a dozen more appeared from the rocks, circling around the group.

"…And fuck me again, it has _friends_."

"Language!" Keith snapped, sighting with his rifle; he noted Sven giving him a grateful look. _Time to act like professionals_. He fired near a couple of the beasts, hoping to scare them off without killing them. No need to disrupt this place any more than necessary.

"Sure thing, Captain America," Lance snorted; only Hunk snickered. He took a couple of warning shots as well, but the beasts were ignoring them… in fact the circle was tightening. And the wounded pack leader was crouching to lunge again.

Nothing to be done for it. Keith grimaced. _I am_ not _losing any of my team_. "Take them out. Headshots."

"Is there any other way?" Flynn muttered, bringing up the rifle slung over his shoulder.

"You wanna be boar-cat-thing food?" Lance asked, aiming one pistol at the nearest one; he and Keith both opened fire at once, punching several neat holes through its skull. Just to be sure. Another quick burst from his other pistol took down a second one right behind it.

Flynn snorted, staring down another of the beasts through his sights. "No…" As it lunged at him he fired, taking it right through the eye and sidestepping the body as it flopped next to him. "I was asking why we'd take any _other_ shots."

Aside from Hunk, only Sven hadn't had his gun out. He'd pulled his knife instead, and at Keith's order he stared at it for a moment and grimaced. _Good heavens, he wants me to shoot?_  Well, if he had to. He pulled out his sidearm, aimed, and sent a glowing bolt of plasma right into the nearest beast's… leg. Fantastic.

Before he could try again, a burst from Keith's rifle took out the very annoyed boar-thing his shot hadn't slowed in the least.

Lance fired on two more, bringing one down; the other retreated, snarling from its wounds. His aim was true, obviously, but the beasts were huge and tough. And apparently very busy in bed—he was pretty sure there were actually more now than when they'd started shooting. "How many of these things are there?"

"More than I'd like," Keith growled.

Catching sight of more of the creatures lurking behind a large rock, Flynn rang a couple of bullets off it just to give them something to think about. Not that it seemed to do much; the creatures probably had no concept of firearms. _Has_ anything _ever threatened these things before?_ "They just keep _coming_."

Hunk had recovered from the shock and checked his wound—it was ugly, but not serious. And he'd had enough of standing around watching everyone else shoot. "Pit boss, cover me." He opened his pack and started digging through it, tuning out the sounds of the battle. He'd never done this under real fire before. Or under… fang? Under tusk? Whatever, he'd aced live fire drills at the Academy, it wasn't as if loud noises or adrenaline had ever bothered him. Time to put that to use.

At about the same time, the pack leader and one of the others sprang for Sven. "Shit," Lance hissed, opening up on one and taking it down. He couldn't get an angle on the other. Nor could Keith, turning to try to support.

For his part, Sven had never been so happy to be in mortal danger—okay, really he'd never been in mortal danger before—in any case he gladly dropped his sidearm and pulled his knife back out. If the boar-tahs or whatever they were wanted to waltz right into his wheelhouse, let them.

Fancy rich people hunting trips were a thing. Bored rich children there against their will learning actual hunting skills? Also a thing.

As the pack leader tackled him Sven brought the knife up, slicing its throat open in a single efficient motion… and wincing as blood spurted out all over him. _Gross_.

"Holgersson, you alright?" Keith asked, rushing in to cover against any follow-up attacks on their navigator.

Sven was quiet for a moment, crawling out from under the downed beast and checking himself over. His side ached a bit, but… "I think so." He picked up and holstered his sidearm—wasn't doing them any good anyway—and held his knife in a defensive position.

Another boar-tah staggered back from Lance's pistols and he tensed, watching for any more. They seemed at least a bit more wary now…

"Yo people, there's gonna be noise!"

He blinked, turning to look at Hunk, an instant before some _thing_ bright and fiery shot into the air and _exploded_.

"What the…?"

"Cevete!"

The remaining beasts howled and snarled, backing away, and Lance's eyes widened. "I think that's working."

"Course it is!" Hunk grinned, setting off another flare. Or what had been a flare, anyway… he'd made a few quick field enhancements. The second firework exploded even brighter and louder, and most of the boar-tahs fled into the rocks as quickly as they'd appeared.

Most of them. The most injured ones, which weren't going to be retreating too fast anyway, lunged at him instead.

"…Uh oh."

Keith and Lance reacted instantly, bringing one down with careful shots to the neck and forehead. Flynn started to raise his rifle, but it was too close too fast; scowling he grabbed his sidearm and took a quick shot, blasting the other one's chest clean open.

Hunk looked up, blinking at the three of them as some blood and clumps of fur hit him. At least it wasn't his blood this time. "Dude…"

"What are you _carrying?"_ Keith asked, looking at Flynn as he lowered his own rifle.

Lance looked over too—if there was an interesting gun in the vicinity he was there for it. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Probably." Flynn shrugged, holstering the pistol. He would be more than happy to tell them all about his guns, their guns, or pretty much any theoretical guns they might want to bring up, but this didn't seem like the proper time for it.

As if to confirm that thought, the comms crackled. "So hey, guys, I know it hasn't been an hour, but anyone wanna tell me why the fuck all your vitals just went through the roof?"

_Oh wonderful_. Keith looked around, making certain they were really clear. "We just had a close encounter with the local wildlife, Doc. Give us a few minutes to assess if we have injuries."

All eyes went to Sven and Hunk; they were the ones covered in blood, after all. "Ugh," Lance muttered, "that isn't pretty."

Sven checked himself over, making sure all the blood was from large angry boar-cat creatures. By some miracle, he'd made it out with no gashes or cuts, but his left side was definitely badly bruised. He wasn't about to admit it hurt. "I'm fine. Just a few bumps and bruises."

"Me too," Hunk agreed, checking himself over. "Don't think this even hurts all that much…" He gave the cut on his arm a poke and flinched. "Ow, okay, I lied."

"Any one of you has so much as a _scratch_ I want to know about it," Jace snapped, and Hunk gestured for the others to please _not_ tell the medic he had a scratch. Keith shook his head. _Overprotective much?_ He supposed it was better than the opposite, but…

"Aww, Jace, I love you, too."

"Fuck you, McClain."

And _there_ was the opposite.

While they were being yelled at Flynn had quietly pulled a first aid kit out of his own pack and set about treating Hunk's wound. As he finished cleaning it he looked at Sven, looked at the antiseptic wipes in his hand, and shook his head. "Not enough of these in this kit or on this _planet_ for you, Holgersson."

Sven fought down the urge to roll his eyes, wiping some blood from his face and looking down at his shirt, which was mostly red. It had been white when they'd left the ship. "It's okay. We're _fine_ , Jace." He considered also telling the medic to watch his language—he was rapidly getting exasperated with all the vulgarity this team threw around, and had been pleasantly surprised when it seemed their commander agreed with him—but before he could decide if he was feeling that brave or not, his gaze fell to the map. It was badly torn and covered in blood. "…The map, however, is not fine."

Keith watched for another moment, but it seemed safe to make it official. "Doc, I think we're all okay. Keep an eye on the scanners."

"Yeah, sure. Me'n the scanners are having a great time." Jace snorted. "Maybe we'll fly off and leave you there while you're picking fights with the natives."

Lance glowered at the comms. "Don't you dare fly her!" He was only answered by a crackle of static as the connection cut off.

Keith shook his head, turning to Hunk. "Sure you're okay, Garrett?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Doesn't hurt unless I do this." He poked the cut again, and Flynn sighed in exasperation.

Hard to blame him, really. "Well, don't do that. Give Kleid a minute with that kit to get it bandaged."

"And don't tell the doctor," Flynn muttered, "he'd probably kill me for doing his job."

Lance looked him up and down. "You look like you could take him."

"Don't bet on it." He finished patching the wound then turned his attention to Sven, who was working unsuccessfully to salvage the map. "We didn't make a backup, did we?"

"No," Sven admitted, more than a little upset with himself. How had he _not_ made a backup? "But we don't have far to go. I can get us there without the map."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay." Keith straightened. "We need to get moving. This much blood, if more of them smell it…"

"This way." Sven turned and started walking.

Hunk grinned. "Always wanted to follow a Viking on a mission to burn and pillage."

"That's a bit disturbing," Flynn said conversationally.

"Oh like _you've_ never played Raiders of the Frozen North."

Actually Flynn had no idea what that was, and felt he was probably happier that way. For his part, Sven just shook his head for a moment before returning his full focus to the path. Keith looked at them all and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Crazy as hell Explorer Team…_

The mention of burning and pillaging had made Lance grumble a bit, or maybe more than a bit. He tried to keep it to himself. This mission had him on the edge enough as it was, and that was before the boar-tahs showed up. He still had one of his guns out, keeping his head on a swivel as they moved. But there were no further incidents until they reached a giant stone wall blocking the entire pass.

"…No gate?" Sven murmured, walking a little ways down the wall and studying it. There was an inscription etched into the stone; he recognized it as the warning Ioan had given them in its original language. _So that's where he got it_. Walking a little further gave him a better vantage point. It wasn't helping much.

"Well that's creepy," Lance declared, looking at the warning. "Still no gate?"

"Nope." He returned to the others. "Definitely a wall."

"Well, they did say if we needed to make a hole…" Keith turned. "Garrett. You're up."

Hunk grinned, then his expression went shockingly serious. "Okay. You people. Back there." He pointed back to a ridge of stone a little ways back up the path. "Keep your heads down until I tell ya to look up."

With more than a few wary glances in their bomb tech's direction, the others followed his orders and sheltered behind the rock. "Well," Sven wrinkled his nose and flicked some blood off his sleeve, "we definitely ran into some beasts…"

"I don't think they came from the clouds, though."

"Nope, _we_ came from the clouds."

"Hmm. Maybe they should've read the warning?"

"They should've."

Keith looked over the others as they chattered, making sure they were all adequately under cover. He was still uneasy. The boar-cats may well not have been the beasts from the warning. They needed to be careful, and here they were blowing up a wall. Hopefully if there was anything else around, the explosion would scare it away rather than getting its attention.

Hopefully.

Once he was satisfied that the others were behind shelter, Hunk had pulled a few things from his pack and gotten to work. The wall was old, weathered, and cracked; that would help. After a minute of study he had his game plan. Widening a couple of cracks with a chisel, he shaped three small charges and taped up a few nice loops of det cord.

He _might_ have been humming an old song that _might_ have been called Burn It To the Ground while he worked. It probably wouldn't have instilled any more confidence in the others. Then again, if it got results, who was going to complain?

Triple checking his work, he picked up his pack and the remote detonator and ran back to join the others. "Anyone wanna do a dramatic countdown?"

Flynn eyed him. "Something tells me you do…"

"Mayyyyybe." Grinning, Hunk cleared his throat dramatically. "Big _kaboom_ in five! Four! Three! Two! One! One half! One quarter!"

"Just blow it already," Keith groaned.

Lance smirked. "Heard that before." Keith glared, Flynn choked on a laugh, Sven blinked and went bright red, and Hunk kept right on going.

"One quarterback! One nickelback! One running back! One wide receiver! And it's gonna receive a _boom!"_

A deafening explosion echoed through the mountain pass. Most of them jumped, except for Lance, who just chuckled; this guy was fun. "Hope there are still ruins left after that."

"Hunk," Flynn grumbled, "I'm pretty sure the point of a countdown is so we know when it's actually exploding…"

Shrug. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" The big man stood and looked over the rocks, then went around to check things out. In the midst of an enormous cloud of dust was a neat fifteen foot hole in the wall. "All clear! Or uh, actually all super dusty, but you know."

Dust. Fantastic. Sven grimaced as he followed the others into the cloud, shuddering as the dust settled and stuck to his bloodied skin. They'd just gotten here and all he wanted to do was get back to the ship and take a very long shower.

Keith moved up ahead of Hunk and peered through the dust past the wall. They'd blown their way into a large open space, and beyond that he could see a huge structure with five tunnels branching into the darkness. "Okay." He didn't like having to do this, but… "Let's split up."

"I wanna go with Daphne," Hunk announced immediately.

Lance nodded his approval. "Always a good choice, Hunk."

"Who's Daphne?" Sven had been the only one brave enough to ask it, but the other two looked just as confused. Hunk waved it off, exchanging shrugs with Lance. Clearly they were going to have to school this group on _many_ aspects of their cultural history.

Later. For now, they had ruins to explore.

Keith finally just shook his head, which seemed like the best way to deal with it when those two got going. "Everyone pick a tunnel. Stay in radio contact."

"I'll take that one," Hunk volunteered, pointing down the far left tunnel. "Looks like it might be blocked off further down."

"All right. Just let us know before you try to detonate anything. These tunnels are old and we don't know how sturdy they are, we don't need them collapsing on us."

"No faith, boss." He sounded a bit affronted but shook it off and headed for his tunnel. One by one the others picked a branch to follow, and they disappeared into the shadows of the ruins.

*****

Keith walked slowly down the corridor of the complex that he’d chosen. He occasionally paused in the hall, studying the engravings on the walls. While they were interesting, he was pretty sure it wasn’t what they were there for. He moved further down the hall, peeking into smaller rooms along the way. There wasn’t much here, except for the intricate engravings and rubble.

He sighed as he left the last small room before a rather large door at the end of the hall. Trying the knob only resulted in it immediately breaking off in his hand. He frowned and tried shoving it open, hitting it, even kicking it, but it was well and truly stuck. Finally he pulled his sidearm and shot where the knob had been, then pushed on it. It creaked open just as his comm link started going off.

"Who’s firing?"

"Everyone okay?"

"Are those creatures back?"

"What’s going on?"

Keith closed his eyes. "Baka…" He pushed his comm button. "It was me. Sorry. Just trying to get through a locked door."

"Faex, Kogane…"

"And you said _I_ needed to let ya know if I was blastin’, boss."

Keith closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, I know. Let’s just finish this up and get out of here, okay?" He pushed through the door and stopped. Rather than another room he was pretty much outside, in a very large open courtyard overgrown with native vegetation. He made a face as he smelled something kind of boggy, possibly a pool of water that had gone sour. Sliding his gun back into its holster, he slowly made his way around the courtyard. Nothing he was finding looked very important, but he diligently searched around every plant.

Pushing aside a low hanging branch beside a bush, he ducked to search a corner of the courtyard where what looked like a small fountain had stood. Instantly his foot was soaked and mired in mud. "Well, I found the smell," he muttered, grimacing. Keeping hold of the branch, he pulled his foot out of the mire, then tried to skirt around the edge of it… but he couldn't shake the feeling there was something more there that he needed to investigate. As finished searching the rest of the courtyard, he found himself drawn back to the ancient fountain.

The fountain was covered in crawling vines, but some intricate feathery engraving was still visible. He stood in front of it for a few minutes, just staring at it, trying to imagine what it would have been like back when this place had been populated. Sighing, he turned to go, but then the light hit something further into the fountain. He stopped and stared, and the light glinted again. "Hello, what are you?" A little tentatively, he stepped his already wet foot in and reached for the object in the water. He carefully gripped it and pulled, startled as a fairly large piece of black metal slid out of the mud. It felt strange in his hands, a sort of tingle… and he hadn't seen any other metal in here.

Stepping out of the fountain he pulled his water bottle from his backpack, sprinkling some over his find. "What did you come off of? You look interesting. We’ll have to see what the engineers have to say about you." He slid it into his pack and continued on.

*****

Unfortunately—especially after the boss and his bullets—the blocked tunnel hadn't been blocked badly enough to need an explosion. Oh well. In these tight corridors enough things could go wrong that Hunk was just as happy saving the bombs.

All the better when it had turned out his tunnel was full of _combustible materials._ Namely several rooms full of coal, or at least something similar to coal. He took a couple chunks of it on principle. It wasn't _likely_ the Galra were hunting for stockpiles of ancient fossil fuels, but it was intel's job to figure that out for sure, not his.

They did tell him something about the ruins, though. He could see traces of ancient, intricate duct work in the coal rooms, and he remembered Taeshalach retreating from the cold. This would be a perfect place to take shelter in the winter. If you were into that sort of thing.

_Do bird people migrate? Maybe not anymore._

Pausing in the next coal room, Hunk tried to envision the layout of the place. He could tell he was going in a rough loop, which made sense if he was walking through the heating system. What he hadn't seen yet was anything recognizable as a furnace, or even a place where one might have been set up. Not like he could drag a furnace out of here even if he found one.

…Well, okay. Not like he _should_ drag a furnace out of here even if he found one.

The cut on his arm was stinging a bit as he pushed debris aside. Nothing he couldn't handle, but he was still a bit annoyed with himself for being the one casualty. Not near as annoyed as the doc was gonna be, but annoyed. On the upside, the use of colorful impromptu explosions to scare away angry boar-cheetah-things would only help cement his reputation with the crew.

_Like it needs the help after what you did to the wall out there._ He chuckled and picked out another chunk of coal from the next room, returning to the issue at hand. _But seriously, where'd they burn this stuff?_

A few minutes later, the tunnel branched sharply and started to slope down. And he got his answer.

"Oh, _dude_." There was a huge, branching structure in the middle of a reinforced chamber, every inch of it crusted in soot. He could see chutes that definitely led from the coal rooms, and ducts leading back out, though most of them were broken. Some tools hung on the walls. What _kind_ of tools they were was a mystery to him, so he tucked a few away in his pack.

Apparently he'd been right the first time. Even he couldn't drag this furnace out of here. Well, nothing to do but investigate and document _every inch_ of the thing, then!

Half an hour, dozens of blurry photographs, and a haphazard blueprint later, he remembered what he was actually supposed to be doing here. It wasn't studying ancient sources of contained combustion.

"Oops…"

Packing up he bolted from the room, moving on, leaving the furnace silent and cold behind him.

*****

The tunnel Flynn had chosen branched off quite a _lot_ , albeit mostly into empty rooms or dead ends of collapsed stone. Nothing about the layout made sense to him, though he supposed it shouldn't. These ruins were alien. Ancient alien, no less. He kept much of his attention on the walls; there was a pattern etched into them every so often. He could make out enough to tell it was the same pattern, but he hadn't found a complete version yet.

Was it important? Who knew? There wasn't much of anything else to see, and that bothered him. There should be something. Something to remember these people by, when their own world had clearly forgotten them…

_Stop. Don't go there._

The tunnel itself abruptly opened into a large chamber, the dim beam of his flashlight revealing bright colors covering the floor. He recognized parts of the pattern. It was the same thing that had been on the walls. But here it was much better sealed and preserved, maybe to survive the traffic that had once gone through this room.

Here, it was evident the pattern wasn't much of a pattern at all. It was a chaotic mess of winding lines and haphazard shapes, but… there were elements of flow within the lines, labels in alien glyphs on some of the larger shapes. The overall impact was somehow familiar.

A map…?

He looked at the map and took a few long, shallow breaths, taking in the scale of it. The feathery script made no sense to him, but the pictures and the layout made it clear. This was a _city_.

Had been a city, anyway. It made his guts twist.

_What happened here?_

_Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to._

Yes. He _knew_ better.

He shook it off and studied the map more carefully; it was too big to get a decent picture, though he tried. There didn't seem to be any break in the outer wall, but there were several green areas that he guessed to be some kind of courtyards. It looked like they'd entered from one of those. Beyond that, without being able to read the writing, it couldn't tell him much. It did look like the tunnel he was in led to some sort of… well, he wasn't sure exactly. It was etched in a wild rainbow of colors and looked important.

_Okay, let's go that way._

A few more branching dead ends, and he felt wind from up ahead. The faint light of the overcast was trickling down the tunnel. And then it opened up again.

_Whoa_ …

The chamber was _huge_. The Terinians had probably been able to fly in here once… but now half of the ceiling had collapsed, filling the room with debris. Flynn looked closer and paused. The breaks were clean, and there were scorch marks all over the wreckage.

_This isn't age. This is battle damage…_

A shudder ran through him at the thought. No. He wasn't going to dwell on that, he was going to do his _job_. Maybe. Hopefully. If there was anything in here but broken ceiling and empty shelves.

The place _had_ been pretty well cleaned out, but one particular pile of stones caught his eye. A slab of the ceiling had been propped up in a way that well could have left a hole. It took a little doing to move it out of the way, but a glint of crimson in the darkness rewarded his efforts.

_Oh_ …

Two blades of some bright white metal were half pinned beneath the stone. The blades themselves were etched with intricate feathery patterns, and the handles were studded with tiny red gems in careful intervals. Whether they'd actually be any use as _weapons_ , he kind of doubted, but someone had gone to a lot of effort to create them just the same.

…It didn't seem likely to be what the Galra were after. But who knew? Either way they were too beautiful to just leave here, forgotten. He had to take them. Some sign that this city had lived.

Carefully, he tucked the daggers away in his pack, then closed his eyes for a moment. Wondering what it had been like here. How different it must have…

_Stop_.

Sighing, he stood and moved on.

*****

Sven walked down his chosen corridor, watching the drawings as he passed them. He assumed the winged stick figured scattered along the walls were Terinians. Some looked to be flying, others just standing, but all of them had beautiful swirls surrounding them. There didn’t seem to be any type of pattern to the swirls, but he was in no way qualified to say that for certain.

Twisting himself slightly when a particularly beautiful etching in wall caught his eye as he passed it, he quickly regretted the motion. He grabbed his side and stopped walking to wait out the pain. His side was throbbing, successfully delivering the message that twisting his torso like that was no longer allowed. After the pain passed Sven lifted up his bloody shirt to reveal a quickly darkening bruise, covering the majority of his left side. So apparently he wasn’t as well off as he had previously thought. Though, he supposed that should be expected after being tackled by a pack of… huge clawed boar things. Honestly he was lucky not to be worse off.

After giving himself another quick once over, just make sure there were no more surprise injuries, he continued on his path, shaking his head. His side looked worse than it was. It only hurt when he twisted it… at all… which didn’t seem that bad to him. He didn’t think any of his ribs were broken, but Jace would have to make sure.

Sven sighed and rolled his eyes as the doctor’s sullen face popped into his mind. Jace was going to be annoyed. Though, he thought to himself, Jace would probably be annoyed if he had stubbed his toe. He was probably going to get another insult filled lecture. This wasn’t even his fault. How exactly was he supposed to stop a pack of vicious cat boar things from tackling him? Shaking his head, he took a calming breath. He was getting defensive and the doctor wasn’t even here. Stupid doctor had gotten inside his head. He’d gotten him worried about _not stubbing his toe._

Remembering that he had an assignment to complete, Sven put Jace out of his mind. He was supposed to be looking for something, anything the Galra could be trying to get their hands on. Looking around as he walked, he made sure to be more careful of his side.

_Well, unless the Galra were looking for rocks, or wall art, fairly certain they’d be disappointed walking down this corridor._

He was studying the etchings on the wall as he debated with himself on just turning around and calling this one a bust. Before he could come to a decision he tripped on what he assumed was a rock, because apparently that was just how his day was going. Being attacked by savage alien animals evidently wasn’t enough for the universe. He had to trip on a…

Sven looked around for the offending object and promptly choked on his own spit.

_Not a rock. Definitely not a rock._

Wincing as he scurried up from his fallen position, Sven ignored the pain emanating from his side. Miraculously it hadn’t hurt very much as he had tripped. Now, well… now he had other things to worry about.

That was a Terinian _skull_. A Terinian skull with a nasty hole in the center, probably how the poor thing had died. Looking a little to the left, Sven swallowed. _And that would be the rest of its skeleton._ Nodding to himself, he started retreating as quickly as the ache in his side allowed. Yes, this corridor was a bust.

*****

Lance wandered down the hall, his flashlight lit, thinking all he would find would be dirt and dust. So far so good. Finally he found another doorway and walked into a room. He shined light on the walls, reaching out and wiping away ancient dust, dirt and cobwebs to reveal some etchings. It looked like cats, maybe the boar-tahs, maybe something like lions—he wasn’t sure. He spun in place, eyes landing on some low tables in the corner. They were made of rock, he noted as he stooped down and touched the rough surface. For all he knew this was a kitchen table or coffee table of sorts. He picked up the stuff on the table; it seemed to be tools of some sorts and assorted rocks, quartz maybe, of different colors. It was pretty, he thought absently as he just shoved it into his pack. It was probably nothing but junk but it wasn’t his job to sort that out.

Standing up he noticed more etchings on the walls and swiped it clean with his hand, coughing from the dust. These had more animals and maybe the sun. It was both foreign and familiar… something tugged at his heart as he remembered his mother’s paintings. Meadows and lakes. They’d been in the family for centuries, she'd told him. It was their bit of Earth on Beau Terre, she used to say, sounding homesick. A bitter laughed formed in his throat. He hadn’t understood that then, hadn’t known what that meant until he found _himself_ on Earth, staring at a sky the wrong shade of blue.

He bent down and sorted through the junk on the floor. It was more colored rocks. Polished, he realized, wondering what they were polished for. Then he picked up something bigger, shaped in the familiar form of a winged person, and stared. _It’s a doll_ , he realized. A child’s toy, with a face and what seemed to be the thought of clothes etched into it like the drawings on the walls.

_Home_. This was a home, this was a race's life… now it was just dust, dirt, and rocks, cobwebs obscuring its secrets, strange eyes looking at it and not understanding. He was taking people’s things. It hit him harder now, and he shuddered at the thought and nearly dropped the doll. But he couldn’t… he gripped it tight and thought he must honor the child it belonged to. He couldn’t only _take_ from this place, no, even if it was his orders.

_They_ would show up and they wouldn’t care, they wouldn’t notice this was a civilization. They wouldn’t look at the etchings and wonder about polished rocks. _The Galra just burn things down and steal, they take and they won’t stop with just this place… they’ll attack the villages because they can’t help themselves._ The paintings his mother loved, that were in his family for centuries, had become ash in seconds because of them. _They’ll ruin this place… and never give it a thought._

Anger simmered under his skin, and he thought about Hunk. Hunk with all those explosives. It was in his mind, had been for days really, a trap to kill them. Just to take out as many as they could. And now, if it would stop them from touching this place…

He tucked the doll into the pocket of his leather jacket, shoved more rocks into his pack, and started making his way back out with a grim set to his jaw. He was fully intent now on making sure they set a trap for the Galra. They wouldn’t ruin what was left of this place, hell no.

*****

They met back up at the hole in the wall. Keith arrived first, with an empty-handed Sven coming up just behind him looking disappointed. Hunk trotted up a minute later, his collection pack bulging almost as much as the one he was carrying the explosives in. "Yo boss, yo Viking, anything cool?"

"Possibly."

"No."

"Too bad. I found a ton of cool stuff!" Frown. "Dunno if it's useful cool stuff, but hey…"

Flynn returned after another minute, at about the same time as Lance, who was quiet and looking unusually pensive. Keith nodded to the two of them and looked up at the overcast. It was late. It was probably getting darker, though the clouds made it hard to be certain. What _was_ certain was they didn't want to still be here when night fell.

There were other issues, though…

"I think Holgersson and I should go ahead." The navigator was the only other one who'd seemed capable of staying _quiet_ on the way out. "Make sure there's none of those creatures waiting where their friends died."

"Wait," Lance spoke up. "Um, I have a thought."

Keith turned to him, fully ready to explain why splitting up on the way back was necessary. "What's that?"

"The Galra, they could show up any time, looking for whatever… we should rig up a trap. Hunk, you could do it, right?"

…Oh. Well that certainly wasn't what he'd expected. Though now that it was out there, it didn't surprise him; he noted Flynn had an expression like he'd been waiting for it himself.

Hunk just shrugged. "Would take some doin', place is sturdier than it looks, yeah? But there ain't nothin' I can't make go _boom_ , bro."

"No." Keith shook his head slowly. "One, we don't need to tip our hand that we were here if the Galra can scan for our explosives. Two, the locals. If they come down here and go in…" The risk was unconscionable. "No. They'd be killed. We can't have that on our hands."

Lance's initial hesitation was rapidly vanishing. "The locals seemed pretty uninterested in this place."

"And that could change, McClain. You never know. So _no_. That's final."

"No one comes up here, no one's been on that path in ages. It'd just be those bastards."

What part of _final_ was he not understanding? "McClain, drop it."

"We have a shot to take them out!"

Keith glared, and Lance met it evenly, clenching his jaw. "I'm the commanding officer here, _Lieutenant_. I said no, I meant no. Let's move, Holgersson. The rest of you, hold position. Give it fifteen minutes or until we call." He turned and started up the path, Sven trailing quietly behind.

"When they show up here you think they'll leave the locals alone?" Lance yelled after him. "Just pop in harmlessly over here and leave?"

"Keep it up, Lieutenant, and I'll put you on restriction!" Keith yelled back.

Lance scowled, glaring as they vanished around a curve in the path. But hey, on the upside, that meant they were _gone_. He turned to Hunk. "You can do it, right?"

"Course I can do it…" The big man looked uneasily after their commander. "Boss said no, though."

"We can take them out!" He looked to Flynn for support. Commander Tightass Kogane might not get it, but surely his cool second would, right?

"Lance." That definitely wasn't supportive.

"No! This is a shot to kill some of them, to _stop_ them."

"It's impractical. Our supplies are limited, we can't exactly get more contraband explosives out here. And what will it accomplish?"

What the hell kind of question was that? "It stops them from getting their hands on whatever it is they want, whatever we missed in there." He clenched his fists. "It gets them _dead!"_

Flynn's tone was bleeding patience remarkably quickly. "Right. Because they'd send their whole crew, and they certainly wouldn't send anyone _else_ in if their first group disappeared."

"Still kills some of them!"

"Kogane's made this very clear," Flynn said icily, "so I don't know why I'm bothering to argue with you, but _think_. Burning through our stock of explosives hurts us more than losing a few explorers hurts the Galra. Maybe you've forgotten, but our mission is to find a way to stop _all_ of them. Not just a few who happened to step on the wrong tripwire."

"I want them dead. _All of them_. Why not take a few out while we have a shot to take them by surprise?"

"Pretty certain I just answered that. Never mind that we have orders, and you're being _incredibly_ petulant right now."

"Petulant?" Lance glowered. "The Galra are murderous scum who don't care about anyone."

"And you're willing to murder whoever shows up here next because it _might_ be them."

"It will be them!" Why the hell didn't he get it? Why didn't anyone understand? "And they won't just come here, either. Every village near here is in danger."

"Oh, don't pretend you care about these people," Flynn snorted. "You're perfectly willing to let them die as long as you get what you want."

New fury erupted in Lance's blood, filling his mind with a buzzing fog of anger. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. Listen to yourself." The engineer's violet eyes narrowed. "Everything you've said about the Galra, and you don't think they'll retaliate if these ruins are sabotaged? Or you just don't give a damn? Won't be _you_ paying the price."

Lance snapped. "FUCK YOU!" Even before he'd finished spitting the words he lunged forward, slamming a fist into Flynn's jaw before he could even hope to react.

"Ceve!" Hissing, Flynn staggered back and reoriented. If the flyboy wanted to hurt, then he'd damn well oblige—

"—Whoa! Hey!" Hunk grabbed him as he lunged forward, pushing him back a few steps. Then he stepped in between them, looking at Lance. " _Chill_ , bro! He ain't the bad guy!"

Being stopped was almost as shocking as being punched had been; truthfully Flynn had pretty much forgotten Hunk was even there. He stepped back and glared around the big man's shoulder, fighting for calm as he caught his breath.

Lance was breathing heavily, barely able to see through the haze of anger, but the initial surge of adrenaline had faded. _Shit_. "Y… you don't get it," he stammered, turning away and muttering to himself. "Need to stop them…"

"Didn't we just—" Flynn was cut off by Hunk reaching back and slapping a huge hand over his mouth. Immediately whatever ill-advised thing he'd been about to say vanished, replaced by a stunned look.

"Easy, bro." Hunk shook his head and looked back at their pilot. "Can't stop 'em like this, yeah?"

Lance was silent, but turned back to them; his expression was stony. He didn't look interested in speaking, for once. Returning his glare for a moment, Flynn fought his tone back to somewhere near even. "Get back to the ship, McClain. Now." He fully expected to have to argue about that, too. But Lance just glared for another moment, then turned and started up the path.

For a minute everything was silent.

Hunk watched Lance storm off, grimacing. So much for this being a quiet scouting mission. _What the hell was that about?_ It probably wouldn't matter soon. In his experience, officers didn't take too kindly to being punched by their subordinates even when it was justified, let alone… whatever he'd just seen.

"You okay, pit boss?"

"Fine." Flynn was staring after Lance too, his venomous glare turning into a cool, searching gaze. "Just startled me."

Granted, a fist to the face would do that. Though there was a trickle of blood running down his lip too. "Uh, you're not actually totally fine, just as a heads up."

Shrug. "I've had worse."

_Fair enough_. If he knew and it didn't bother him Hunk wasn't going to make an issue of it. "Whatcha think is gonna happen to him now?"

Flynn looked up at him, frowning slightly. "Nothing's going to happen to him, because I'm not reporting it. Nor are you." He must've caught Hunk's surprise, because he gave him a sharp look. "That's an order."

"Ain't a snitch, pit boss." It wasn't his business, and he wouldn't wish the whole _assaulting a superior officer_ circus on anyone. "You sure you're okay? You can't go to the Doc and keep him out of my kitchen for a bit?"

That got him an exasperated sigh rather than the smirk he'd expected. "Stow it, Garrett."

Oh, he was _Garrett_ now. Pit boss was more annoyed than he was willing to let on. Well, whatever he needed to do. "Stowing as ordered!" He pulled his datapad from his pack, called up a playlist, and let the thumping bass of Chainsaw Bayonet cut through the tense silence.

Flynn glanced over at him and arched an eyebrow. All of a sudden the idiot who was handy with bombs was back to being an idiot. And he was buying it even less than he had before. But really he'd had enough excitement for the time being, and his jaw already hurt like hell… he wasn't going to make an issue of it right now. Maybe not ever.

All that left him with was questions about two crewmates instead of just one.

_So what, exactly, was_ any _of that?_

*****

Sven understood why he'd been the one chosen to accompany the commander back. Between that and Keith's furious expression he knew he'd _better_ stay quiet as they walked. But his side was really starting to ache… he winced, lifting his shirt to have a look. Oh yes, the boar-tah had left him one _spectacular_ souvenir. _Jace is gonna be mad…_

Noting the motion, Keith slowed a bit and turned. "How are you doing, Holgersson?"

"Fine, just a bruise." He dropped his shirt, but not quickly enough to stop his commander from seeing the developing bruise that covered half his torso.

"Holy…" He stopped altogether. "How's your breathing? Any pain in your chest?"

Of course there was pain in his chest, there was a giant bruise there. Though he knew what was really being asked. "My breathing's fine, nothing feels labored. Just hurts a little when I twist is all. Really, I'm _fine_."

"Alright." Keith nodded. He wasn't going to argue the point; he had to trust his people to know their own limits. "We're going to have to be extra careful when we get to where those creatures died."

"Yes, sir."

"Speaking of… did you ever qualify to use that weapon?"

Sven blushed at the question; he'd kind of hoped everyone else was too busy to notice his weapon issues. "Yes, I did." _Barely_ … "I, uh… prefer more hands on weapons. Firearms haven't come easily to me." There was a reason he was packing a plasma pistol, and it wasn't because he'd carefully weighed the benefits of energy versus ballistics. It was just easier to aim and you didn't have to worry about ammunition.

To his surprise, Keith grinned. "So do I, actually, but we can't just rely on hand to hand. Especially with creatures like what we faced earlier. We can't have you dying on us. There should be a range holo in the gym, I want you to practice daily."

_Oh, that should be tons of fun_. "Yes, sir."

The commander nodded and started walking again. "And if you want a workout partner for hand to hand… let me know."

Now that really _did_ sound like fun. Sven gave a small smile. "I will, sir. I've trained in glima since I was young, it's…" He paused, blushing as he realized what he was about to say. "It was a Viking style of martial arts."

_That nickname is definitely_ not _going away._

"Oh?" Keith looked intrigued. "I've had training from a young age in a few Japanese styles, we should see how well they fare against yours."

Sven grinned, excited for the first time in awhile about something other than the thought of a shower. "It should be fun."

"It should," Keith agreed. "So what kind of weapons do you prefer?"

"Knives, bow and arrow…" Pause. "And uh, battle axes." Nope, the nickname was going nowhere at _all_. "You?"

"Knives, swords… the more honorable weapons of Japan." Shrug. "A few others."

Something told Sven that a few others didn't include axes. "I tried training with a sword a few years ago. I definitely prefer the weight and motion that comes with a battle axe."

"Make you a deal," Keith offered with a grin. "I'll help you with your sidearm and swords, and you can teach me the axe."

Now that sounded _really_ fun. "I wouldn't get your hopes up on me improving much with a firearm… uh, sir. But you have a deal."

Nodding, Keith looked around their surroundings and ducked behind a boulder, motioning for Sven to do the same. The site of the earlier attack was just ahead, and as he carefully raised his head to have a look, he was pretty certain he could see two of the creatures circling the bodies. "Looks like there's a couple there. Let's see what they do, but we may have to take them out. Be ready."

"Alright." Sven looked at his sidearm, then gave Keith the most respectful look of sheer doubt he could muster. _Didn't we just have this conversation?_

Before either of them could say anything else, a screaming roar came from somewhere above and behind them. An instant later one of the beasts came down on Keith's back, digging its claws in.

And they'd definitely just had _this_ conversation. Sven drew his knife and lunged for the beast, driving it into the back of its neck and severing the spine… which was easier said than done. These things were _solid_.

"Thanks." Keith shoved the beast off him with a wince, pausing to catch his breath. "You ready to do this? Because we don't have a choice anymore." The other two had been alerted by the noise, and were now charging full bore down the path.

"Yes sir."

The lead boar-tah lowered its head, tusks glinting in the low light. These things really would have been magnificent creatures, if only they hadn't been trying to _murder them_ … it was a shame, really. But there was nothing to be done for it. Keith fired on the lead creature, bringing in down with a burst to its forehead. Sven was watching carefully, knife at the ready; may as well just study the commander's technique, because he was certain if _he'd_ tried to take that shot he would have somehow gotten the beast's tail.

As the one in the lead went down, the one behind it pounced. Sven was ready with his knife, it seemed much too close for a rifle burst… but Keith fired straight into its mouth, sending blood everywhere and going down beneath the body as it hit him.

…A little anticlimactic, actually, but definitely better than being boar-tah food. He sheathed his knife, grimacing as he felt more blood splatter him, just what he needed.

"Do you see any more?" Keith asked, scrambling to his feet.

"No."

"Good. Radio the others, tell them to hurry up."

"Yes, sir." He opened his comms. "You guys need to hurry up, we just ran into a few more of those… uh, beasts. No telling if more will show up." Closing the comms, he looked down at himself and shuddered. "I want a shower."

Keith reached up and wiped some of the mess off his own face. "You and me both… don't think the Doc is going to have anything nice to say when he sees us like this."

Sven groaned. "Do you think if I don't tell him about the giant bruise he'll let me take a shower before checking me over?" As soon as he asked it he winced; for a moment there he'd forgotten he was talking to his commanding officer.

Fortunately Keith just smirked. "This much blood? I doubt it."

Sigh. _Of course not._

They made it back to the ship without further incident, and Keith tapped his comms. "Doc, we're here. Open up the hatch."

Jace had spent the last several hours sitting on the bridge playing games on his datapad, wishing he could be in the gym. Or the galley. Really anywhere but just sitting here. Still, it wasn't as if he was going to _not_ abuse bridge authority for the brief time he had it… he put up his datapad and smirked. "What's the magic word?"

"… _NOW_."

Blink. "Yep, that's it!" He hit the hatch controls and left the bridge to go up and meet them; he wanted to hear about this local wildlife that had apparently caused them so much trouble. His amusement at that disappeared completely as he reached the hatch and found two of his teammates practically covered in blood. "…What the _fuck_ , _both of you!?"_

Sven sighed. "We're fine, but I have a bruise you need to look at so I can get a shower."

Keith side-eyed him. "Thought you didn't want him to know?"

"He'd find out anyway and then just be angry that I didn't tell him, and then I'd have to wait even longer for my shower. _And_ endure a lecture."

"It's adorable you think I'm not going to lecture you anyway, holy shit." A little encounter with the local wildlife? He'd dragged troopers off the front lines who were less of a mess than these two.

"None of the blood is ours," Sven assured him.

"I'm not taking your word for that, dumbass." Not even a little. "Since we _don't have a sick bay_ , you two rather strip in the cargo bay or in the showers?"

"Showers," they answered in unison; it was the first time he'd ever heard Sven shout.

"Okay." He grabbed his kit and scowled. "Let's move. …Where's everyone else?"

"On their way. We were making sure the path was clear before calling them up; it wasn't."

"Clearly. They all covered with blood that isn't theirs too?"

Keith and Sven exchanged glances. Hunk wouldn't appreciate them answering that honestly. "How about you just worry about us right now?"

"Porra… whatever. Move. And if either of you weaves even a _little_ , you better believe I'll fucking carry you."

The showers were on the lower deck; Keith used the handrail gingerly. Just to be safe, because no way in hell was he being carried. He really didn't think the scratches on his back were too bad… they'd gotten off lucky, in all honesty. And this had just been hostile wildlife. What might be in store for them next?

He supposed they'd find out…

*****

Flipping through pages of various notes, Alfor was becoming more and more certain his pendant was a key component for awakening the Black Lion. He was not sure _how_ yet, but he couldn’t help the thought that if he was able to acquire the pendant, the means to wake the other Lions could also be possible. Sighing as he leaned back in his seat, he pondered on if he would have the time to find the other pieces. Each Lion was different, not only in their elements but also how to access them. Still, he felt closer to the answers.

Closer.

Turning to a tried and true method of making sure he was on the correct path, he started to meditate on his needs. Most times this method had worked… yet lately it was becoming more problematic. As his mind’s eye focused towards the spirits that had guided him before, he sensed dark clouds all around him.

A vision formed in the shape of his daughter. Once more she was surrounded by clouds, only they were darker, heavier. And she was not alone. A man was also within the clouds with her, but his features were hidden. Sparks of electricity crackled about the air around him. Alfor watched as Allura raised her arm, in a manner of official greeting, and the man accepted her hand. Electricity arched between the two with no reactions from either one, as if nothing was happening. Clouds covered the vision, and he found himself more confused than before.

Hoping to find a clear voice in this mental plane, he called out to the spirits. Soon an old mentor replied.

"The answers you seek cannot be given."

Turning, Alfor found the ghostly form of the speaker at his side: his father’s old teacher, Sir Juno. "Juno, please… I am running out of clues to what must be done for the Lions. I’m sure I have one piece, but I need to find the others."

"Those paths are for others," Juno replied. His tone was calm and grave, but there was a sad look in his eyes.

"No… please don’t say that." Alfor growled in frustration. "Surely there is _something_ I can be told. How can I look out for my people—my _daughter_ —when less and less is being given? It feels that at this rate, all of Arus could be…"

He stopped mid-thought as he looked at Juno. _All of Arus_ rang in his head. All his research had told him, the silence from his guides…

It was the truth he didn’t want to face. It _was_ that great an event that laid before him.

"Something that must be…." Looking about for any sign of that he could be wrong in his thought, he found nothing. Turning once more to Juno, he spoke with more certainty. "The Lions have a part in this."

"I cannot say…"

"Can I at least know how much time I have to prepare?"

Juno could only shake his head no, and his spectral form slowly faded away.

Alfor bit his lip in anger. Though tempting to yell at the gods, both Golden and otherwise, he knew it would not help in any way. He could have many years or a mere month to try to save Arus from something disastrous. Not knowing where the danger was even to come from ate at him all the more.

And yet… there was that vision of Allura, one of so few clear visions anymore. It seemed to imply that whatever was coming, she would perhaps survive. And the man alongside her… could he represent the answer? Perhaps…

As his mind returned to the normal world, he lowered his head and sighed. Too many questions… and not enough time.


	8. After Action

Hunk was in the rec room, watching Indiana Jones on the main holoscreen. The 2253 reboot of Indiana Jones, to be exact; nothing could ever replace the original, but somehow the original was not in the entertainment system's databanks. Oh well. This _was_ the best reboot, so whoever had made the decision got half credit.

Preoccupied with the movie, he didn't hear the door slide open. Keith had just wanted a little quiet time somewhere that _wasn't_ his tiny bedroom. Good theory, but the rec room was definitely not quiet right now. He paused in the doorway, debating whether to enter or not.

"Turn around, dude!" Hunk bellowed. "There's snakes!"

_What?_ He blinked and looked around on reflex, then stopped and shook his head. "What am I doing? There's no snakes on a ship!"

That seemed to startle Hunk as much as Hunk's yell had startled him; the big man jumped and looked back at him. "Oh! Uh, hey boss." He pointed a little sheepishly at the screen. "They're uh… they're there."

Keith looked. Sure enough, there was a wide shot of a floor covered in at least a hundred of the things. "Oh…"

"Indy hates snakes," Hunk explained helpfully.

Oh, well alright then. "Can't say as I blame him." He shrugged. "I see I'm not the only one who needed some downtime."

"Nope!" Hunk chuckled and pointed to the other couch. "Come on in, boss. Help yourself to popcorn."

The bowl of popcorn was nearly as large as the small card table it was sitting on. This wasn't how Keith had really seen his break going, but why not? "Okay." He crossed over and sat, taking a handful of popcorn and sipping the whiskey he'd brought with him.

Hunk grinned. "Drivin' you to drink already?"

Keith couldn't help chuckling at that himself. "Explorer Teams, right?"

"Totally!" The big man raised his glass in salute.

Returning the salute, Keith leaned back and took another sip. "So… I know I probably shouldn't ask off duty, but did you or Kleid have a look at that metal fragment I found?"

Oh. Hunk paused, wincing a little. Organizing all the junk strewn around the cargo bay right now _was_ their job, but they'd both been a little preoccupied after returning to the ship. "Uh, we hadn't sorted the cargo yet, honestly. You found somethin' interesting?"

"Just some piece of black metal. It seemed kind of… tingly? when I touched it."

"Huh." That was interesting. "All that overcast, maybe there's storms? Could still be holdin' a charge, but that'd be kinda weird. Wanna go have a look now?"

"Maybe it was just static from a storm, but…" Keith trailed off. This was exactly why he'd known he shouldn't ask now. "No, you're off duty. I don't want you to give up your downtime."

Hunk waved that off. "Boss, I like metal."

"It isn't that big of a deal, but… if you want to?"

"I mean, it's your call." Shrug. "I've seen this movie a couple times before. Or maybe a couple dozen."

Well if he was going to be that way about it… Keith frowned, then nodded. "If you don't mind. Something about it just bugs me, just a stupid gut feeling, you know?"

"Gut feelings are important, yeah?" Hunk hopped up and flipped the screen off. "How else are you gonna know when you skipped lunch?"

"True enough." Keith laughed softly. "Okay, let's go take a look at a piece of scrap metal, shall we?"

"Let's rock it!"

They headed up to the cargo bay, which wasn't really _that_ bad off. All the findings from Terina were spread over the floor until they could be inventoried and boxed up; he found the metal scrap easily enough. But as he picked it up, the faint shock ran through his fingertips again.

"It still feels tingly to me," he said, frowning.

Hunk looked at the metal, frowning himself. "Now _that_ is pretty weird, I'd say you're onto somethin' bringin' it back…" He trailed off as Keith handed the scrap over. "…Uh, boss? You're sure about the tingly? Weren't sittin' on your hand or anything before ya picked it up?"

"No, my hand isn't asleep."

Hunk was quiet, studying the metal intently. It _did_ feel unusual, compared to any other metal he'd worked with; it was light and had the slightest hint of flex to it, but he couldn't actually bend it, which from its size and weight he should've been able to. He ran a finger along the edge of the scrap. "Ain't ever seen metal that breaks like this," he said quietly. It was the smoothest edge he'd ever seen, but the jagged shape—and, well, literally everything about where they'd found it—made him certain it hadn't been machined.

"Yeah?" Keith looked up at him. "So no idea what kind of metal it could be, then?"

"Honestly?" Hunk glowered at the scrap. "No, and I'm kinda offended by that."

Stranger and stranger. For all his oddities, Keith _knew_ Hunk knew his metal. "Do you have some sort of scanner that can test for residual energy? Or maybe I just have, I don't know, some sort of reaction to this type of metal?" He'd heard of metal allergies before, but…

"Possible," the big man agreed slowly, then shook his head. "We can scan for energy, but not for composition. Damn shame." He finally looked up from the metal. "You think this is what the Galra were after? Some kinda super-alloy? But what's it doin' in the middle of some ancient bird city?"

That was an excellent question, especially considering _exactly_ where in said ancient bird city he'd found it. "Maybe? I don't know, but… I'd be willing to bet if the Galra had found it, the Terinians would have been killed."

"…Yeah well Lance was pretty sure they'd be killed anyway," Hunk muttered uncomfortably. "Maybe not, though? I mean, those ruins weren't anywhere near a settlement, yeah? The Alliance would tell 'em if they were gonna be in danger."

"Yes, but if they'd found this? They might have thought whatever they were looking for was there. They would've ripped that planet apart looking for it…"

Hunk gave him a look. He really didn't want to go down the what-if rabbithole, and especially not when their mission was to scavenge and run. It would be very easy to find ways that anything they did, or didn't do, could lead to disaster.

Saying all that would have a _terrible_ effect on his persona, so he stuck with the basics. "Maybe we ain't gotta dwell on that part."

"Yeah," Keith agreed. "We don't have to dwell on it. Let's find that scanner to see about the energy readings, hmm?"

Hunk brightened. "Totally." He went to a box and pulled out a couple of small instruments. Keith hadn't seen scanning equipment like that before, and watched with interest as the other man set it up, motioned for the metal… and stared blankly as it scanned. "Uh."

"What is it?"

"It's not readin' _anything_."

_Hmm_. Keith reached out and touched the metal. "How about now?"

"Nope. No energy signature. At all." He gave Keith a troubled look. "So either it's at absolute zero and your fingers are tingly cuz they're frozen and gonna fall off any second and we just haven't noticed, or…" He looked at the metal again and shook his head. "Or hell if I know."

Keith exhaled. "Well, damn."

"What're _you_ damn-ing about? Intel's gonna love this."

…True enough. Puzzling this out wasn't at all their job. But his curiosity was piqued now, and he was pretty confident intel wouldn't be giving them any sort of follow-up. Still, he grinned at the reminder. It was a good start to the mission. "Yeah, they probably will." He watched Hunk packing the scanner back up, noting the bandage poking out from under his sleeve. "So, how's your arm?"

"It's fine, just a scratch, yeah?" Grin. "Managed to sneak around the Doc, even."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "You know, I got scratched by one of those creatures on the way back. Doc had to clean it out." Which he'd done with surprisingly little cursing, all things considered.

Hunk waved that off. "Pit boss cleaned me up on-site, remember?"

"Yeah." The mention of Kleid made Keith pause, and he rubbed his jaw. "Speaking of. I saw him earlier."

That gesture immediately set Hunk on edge. _Uh oh._ "Yeah?"

"How'd he get that lovely souvenir?"

_Uh… oh…_ he shrugged. "Dunno? Must've tripped in the ruins or somethin'."

"He didn't have it when Sven and I left."

"Huh. You sure?" Hunk fought to keep his expression casual. He had his orders from the pit boss. But he was also talking to the pit boss's boss. "I wasn't lookin'."

The boss stared at him, one eyebrow arching up. "Let me guess. He told you not to say how he got it."

Hunk gulped. "Uh, yeah." No sense trying to deny it anymore, though _technically_ he'd still followed his orders…

"Damn it, Kleid." Keith sighed. "And I left him with you and one pissed off McClain, and I know you know better than to hit a superior officer."

Now it was Hunk's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Uh, boss? You read my file?"

"Yes, I know." Oh. Well okay then. "Unless he files a complaint, nothing I can do about it. And he won't do that."

"Safe bet," Hunk agreed. "For, y'know, whatever got him that bruise."

Keith looked up at him, a slow grin crossing his face. "You're a good soldier, Hunk. And I guess… a good Explorer Team member."

The big man blushed, letting out a deep sigh of relief. "Uh, thanks, boss?"

"Go find Jace and get that arm looked at." He patted Hunk's shoulder. "And I may talk to Kleid, but if I do… you didn't tell me."

Hunk rolled his eyes. "My arm's _fine_ , boss. It's just a little scratch, see?" He pushed up his sleeve and yanked the bandage off.

… _Um_ …

Sure enough, his little scratch remained a little scratch. The problem was it seemed to be turning a vibrant shade of orange.

Yet again Keith felt his eyebrows going up. "I don't think orange is good."

"…Now don't be like that, boss. Orange is a lovely flavor and doesn't deserve its bad reputation." The words came out a little subdued. "Orange scratches though, yeah… maybe less good…"

"The fruit is fine," Keith laughed despite himself. " _That_ isn't."

"Yeah. Uh, maybe I'll go see the Doc after all. Later boss!" He bolted.

"Later," Keith offered to the spot where their bomb tech had just been standing, shaking his head. Now he just had to decide whether, and how, he was going to deal with his second.

_What a bunch of messes._

*****

To Sven's pleasant surprise, Jace hadn't actually lectured him all that much on the bruise. Something about how they were the military and shit happened—his words. But he _had_ expressed the need to monitor him for a couple of days to be certain it was only a bruise. Which was fine, except he was running nearly an hour late for the follow-up he'd demanded. Sven was sitting on his bed and seriously considering just getting into it, it had been a long day…

"It is _not_ that hard to be on time," he mumbled, half expecting the words to summon an angry medic to yell at him.

It partly worked. The door slid open within seconds, but Jace was just grumbling under his breath in Portuguese. Sven arched an eyebrow at both the lateness and the language; he was certain he didn't want to know the translation.

"Oh, don't you give me that look. Get that shirt off, I can't see through it."

…Had he been expecting an apology? Of course he hadn't been expecting an apology. "It's really not that bad." He pulled his shirt off carefully, making sure not to twist or stretch the bruise too much.

"Yeah, yeah. Just more black and blue than a night jay, I get it." The medic watched him closely for a moment before pulling his stethoscope out of his kit. "Deciding what is or isn't bad is _my_ job."

"Well, let me know when you decide."

"Working on it. Deep breaths." He listened for a minute, frowning. Sven's breathing sounded okay; the sheer size and apparent depth of the bruise still concerned him. If he hadn't at least bruised the ribs it would be a small miracle. "Is it getting any worse? And would you tell me if it was?"

"It's gotten darker in the past few hours, but the pain is pretty much the same."

"That's promising. At least you admit it hurts." He put the stethoscope aside and scowled, still in a very foul mood from the last hour or so. "Unlike _some_ fucking idiots who think I'm lecturing you people on scratches because I'm just that worried about your precious hides…"

Sven raised an eyebrow again. "I'm pretty sure that is why, so I guess you can put me in the idiot column."

"Hmph." Jace gave the bruise a couple of experimental pokes. "I'm not sure whether to be flattered by how highly you think of me, or concerned that our _navigator_ is admitting to being an idiot."

"You should be flattered." Sven gave his most winning smile. It didn't accomplish much.

"Uh huh. See, the fun thing about scratches in alien ecosystems is, there's usually alien microorganisms there that need specialized antibiotics mixed up. Otherwise, you get an infection, like giant donut dumbass just finished getting yelled at about since he didn't fucking tell me until it started turning orange."

Oh. Well then. "I'm assuming Hunk will be alright?" He wasn't really too concerned. Despite whatever protestations he might want to make to the contrary, Jace wouldn't be _here_ if Hunk were in real danger.

"He'll be fine." Another poke. This one hit a very tender spot and Sven yelped… which got him a _look_ and the medic pressing more thoroughly around the same spot.

"Ow!" He glared. "Is that really necessary?"

"Matter of fact, yes. We don't have an x-ray or anything so I have to actually poke you to make sure your bruise isn't something I need to yell at _you_ about."

"You've never needed a legitimate reason to yell at me before."

Jace snorted. "I've never needed a legitimate reason to _swear_ at you before, caralho. I don't yell unless I have to, oxygen is nice and I enjoy it."

"That's good to hear," Sven muttered, fighting down the intense urge to roll his eyes. If he indulged that urge every time it came along, _especially_ where Jace was involved, they'd have rolled all the way out of his skull by now.

"Okay, put your shirt back on." Frown. "You need some sun."

"I'm not _that_ pale," he protested, standing and putting his shirt back on gingerly.

"Doctor's advice, take it or leave it." Shrug. "Don't really care as long as you don't keel over from Vitamin D deficiency."

"My Vitamin D is fine. I take vitamins." In fact, several of his professors had stressed the importance of that on deep space missions—you didn't get a whole lot of sun in hyperspace.

"Oh, _that's_ good to hear." Jace snorted and stepped back. "I'll want to check again tomorrow, and if it's still progressing the same I'd say you're safe. Try to take it easy. No more slitting giant cat-pig throats or whatever you were doing." He really couldn't imagine this guy doing any such—

—A huge smile spread over Sven's face. "There was some spine severing too."

The only response Jace seemed able to muster for that was a blank stare. Sven's smile faded a little. _Right… probably shouldn't be so excited about that…_

"Okay, so _that_ was creepy." Jace blinked. "Who the hell are you, where's Holgersson, and are his ribs fractured?"

"Sorry." He blushed furiously. "I just enjoyed the action, more than the actual spine severing. It was exhilarating. Kind of like the hunting I used to do when I was younger."

"Porra…" Jace did not possess the same restraint against rolling his eyes, and did so with enthusiasm. "Don't get too excited. War isn't a fucking tourist attraction."

"Never said it was," Sven answered, his expression becoming dead serious. "Just that I enjoyed the action."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Jace nodded. "…I gotcha. Why not? You're a Viking."

Now the nickname made him smile; it was growing on him. It definitely beat the callsign he'd earned back on Earth, which _might_ have been Choirboy. For reasons. Noticing that his bed was slightly wrinkled where he'd been sitting on it, he smoothed it out and shook his head.

_Reasons_.

The medic watched him, smirking. "Maybe by the end of this we'll even teach you to swear like a Viking."

Now he gave in to the eyeroll. "Not likely. I can get my point across without profanity."

"You can… I can think of a _lot_ of things you can do. How the fuck did you survive the Academy, dude?"

"Same way I survived all my other schooling. With manners, good judgment, and straight A's." Which wasn't entirely true… his eyes narrowed in annoyance as a nagging old shame reminded him of its existence. "Except my first etiquette class in seventh grade. I made a B."

For a very long time Jace just stared at him in silence. Eventually he found his voice. "…This, right here? This is me judging you."

"I know," Sven sighed. "Only a B! It's upsetting. I could have made an A but I mixed up the snack and dessert spoon positions on the final exam… it was a rookie mistake."

"You're _not_ helping yourself!"

"What?"

"You're being an asshole again now, right?" Jace shifted and looked him in the eye. "You didn't seriously have a seventh grade etiquette class that tested you on spoons. You didn't."

Sven blushed and broke eye contact, looking at pretty much anything that wasn't the medic standing in front of him. He really did have a habit of walking into these things, didn't he?

"…You _did_."

Another sigh. "I did."

This was about where most conversations went sharply downhill, but Jace just grinned. "Oh, man. Should I be calling you the Viking Prince?" He stepped back, making a great show of bowing. "Bestow your spoon knowledge upon me, great Viking Prince!"

Sven glowered. _I'm never telling him about the French Finishing School for Boys. Ever._ But then… he'd just been asked what he was pretty certain was a rhetorical question. It would serve Jace right if he actually answered it. "What would you like to know?"

That got him the snicker he'd expected, and then a serious look he hadn't. "Okay but for real, how did you end up in the military? You can throw something about spoons in there too if you want."

_More related than you think_. "I wanted to get off planet, explore other worlds. I was tired of dealing with spoons and their positions." He shook his head. "And like I said… I enjoyed hunting, I liked the action. So I figured the military was my best option, then my parents pulled strings to make sure I'd never go off Earth. They didn't want me getting hurt."

Jace considered that for a few moments. _This guy belongs with this bunch of lunatics less than I do. …And he likes it._

"What about you?" Sven asked suddenly. The question took him by surprise, which it probably shouldn't have. Why wouldn't he ask? The Viking actually seemed to _like_ him.

For his part, Jace was pretty sure he liked the Viking too. And he definitely enjoyed spending time with someone who didn't mind him being, well, himself… though that didn't mean he wanted to answer that question one damn bit. "I already told you," he said finally. "I just wanted to get the hell off Prox."

Oh no, he wasn't getting away with that after the whole Viking Prince thing. "Yes, you did. But you never told me why."

He was quiet for another few moments, then shrugged. "I needed some structure, you know? Prox kind of sucks for that. It's all fuck the rules, fuck The Man, parades out your window every fucking week." He snorted. "They don't like the military at all. Some ancient history, riots gone bad and shit. I told my parents I wanted to join up and they _freaked_."

Sven nodded. He could understand that. "Mine were not exactly happy either."

"They still talk to you?"

… _Oh_. Things always seemed to get worse with this guy. "Yes," he admitted, putting as much sympathy in his tone as a one syllable word could take.

"Happier than mine, then." Jace smiled grimly. "Good for you." He didn't say it nearly as bitterly as he could've. Not like he'd expected anything else when he'd run away from his parents, Novo Rio, and Prox altogether. Not like he missed them.

_Like you really don't miss anything._

Sven lowered his head a moment. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He shrugged, shaking it off. "I had a choice, and I made it."

"Then I won't… but I'm glad you did." Sven shot him a sly smile. "Otherwise I'd be here with a doctor who actually understood how to apply a decent bedside manner, and that would just spoil me."

"At least _someone_ around here appreciates me." Jace smirked and gave him a quick once-over. "Got some bad news for you, though."

"And what's that?"

"You're gonna have to be under medical supervision for the rest of this run."

Sven returned the smirk with a grin. "So I get to continue to have the joys of your company? I don't see that as bad news."

Jace arched an eyebrow, stepped closer, and threw an elbow into his good side that was surely a bit harder than necessary. "Don't get too excited, we're not gonna pick out curtains or anything. Wouldn't trust your interior decorating anyway. But someone's gotta make sure you don't stab your eye out with the wrong spoon or something."

Laughing, Sven winced and rubbed his ribcage. "There's that bedside manner I was talking about."

"It's my specialty." Jace laughed too. "I even made sure to elbow you on the side that _isn't_ a giant bruise!"

"Well thank you for that. It's greatly appreciated."

"I'll bet." They stared at each other for another moment, the silence surprisingly comfortable. "…Now take it easy, would you?"

Sven smiled. "Yes, doctor."

With a wave that was moderately less sarcastic than his usual flippant salute, Jace slipped out the door.

*****

Probably fortunately, Flynn's first order of business after they'd returned to the _Firecrown_ was a nap and an abbreviated bay shift. They would ease back into the usual schedule. Hunk had seemed cheerful as ever when he'd arrived to take over, though he was in new bandages and had smelled like sterile chemicals. All he'd said about that was _mistakes were made_. Neither of them had spoken about the incident at the ruins, and it was pretty clear neither of them intended to.

Flynn did intend to speak to someone, though. Someone whose complexities were a little less benign… or at least a little less under control.

The rec room was empty. For a moment he entertained the thought of just staying there and pretending he wasn't looking for anyone.

_Just go._

Sighing, he crossed the rec room and walked down the steps to the gym, listening to the dull _thump_ of fists on canvas. If that was who he expected, they weren't going to appreciate his company, but they could deal with it.

Sure enough…

The gym was pretty sparse. A couple of mats, a couple of punching bags, a holo system that could produce basic sparring dummies or a shooting range of indeterminate usefulness. Lance had not been overly impressed with it before, but right now all he wanted to do was punch something. Lots. And for _that_ it was serving just fine.

Maybe if he could just punch this damn bag hard enough, he could stop thinking. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about _them_.

It wasn't working.

Finally he gave up on the bag, throwing his hands up in frustration and stepping back. Turning, he startled at the sight of pretty much the last person he wanted to see standing in the doorway.

_Just fucking perfect_. "Fuck."

"That was unnecessary."

"Don't think so."

Flynn narrowed his eyes slightly. "You could at least _pretend_ to be grateful I didn't sic Kogane on your ass."

…Oh. He had wondered about that, and he actually _was_ grateful, though he wasn't thrilled to admit it. "Thanks," he muttered grudgingly.

"You're welcome." The engineer stepped in and let the door slide shut behind him. It wasn't a threat… quite. "But you _are_ going to tell me what that was about."

Sure he was. "What do you care?"

Flynn arched an eyebrow. "How about I'm on edge enough with _one_ crewmate with a history of punching superior officers?"

_Huh_. "Who's that?"

"Probably not who you think," Flynn muttered. "You're avoiding the question."

"I am." Lance grabbed his towel and scowled into it, wiping some sweat off his face. "It's personal, alright?"

"Gathered that."

That really wasn't encouraging as to how this was going to play out. "Yeah, guess it's obvious." Sigh. "I fucking punched you."

"You did." Flynn flipped his hair back. "Good punch, too."

…Oh. _Well_. He had a bruise. Not that bad a bruise, but easy enough to notice when he wasn't keeping his hair in the way. "Shit," he muttered. "Sorry."

Flynn shrugged. "I've had worse."

"Yeah, me too." He tried for a small grin. "Looks pretty rugged though, run into the right guy and maybe you'll get lucky."

"…Really _is_ all you think about, isn't it?"

Smirk. "It's fun, ain't it?"

"I guess." For a moment Lance wondered if he was actually going to let it drop, but he lowered his voice and continued. "This whole mission, you've gone flying off the rails every time someone so much as says the word 'Galra' around you. And before you tell me it's none of my business, it became my business when you tried to go behind Kogane's back. …And punched me. So…"

Nope, not going to let it drop. Fine. "Ever hear of Beau Terre?"

Flynn cocked his head. Of course he'd heard of Beau Terre. As he kept pointing out, he'd read Lance's file. "Your home planet."

"Know what happened on it?"

Files didn't explain _everything_. "No… but from the direction this is taking, I can guess."

If he wanted to _guess_ rather than making Lance say it, damn sure he'd take it. "Go ahead then."

"It got hit by a Galra raid…" Frown. "Where you were living, presumably."

The words were so fucking detached, though there was a distinct edge of sadness in the tone. Lance clenched his jaw. "Yeah." He tried to blink back the memories, forcing them back into the corner of his brain he kept them locked away in, and was vaguely aware that Flynn had averted his gaze. "I don't… like. Talking. About. It."

"Fair enough." The engineer kept his tone even, though the glimmer of concern was definitely there. "But you can either not talk about it, or you can scream and punch people about it. They tend not to go together very well for very long."

Damn it. "Usually don't punch people," he grumbled, "you just… that place set me off…" Another image unhelpfully presented itself. "It was the fucking doll."

_Doll?_ Flynn watched him carefully. He could guess at what that meant, too. Only a guess, but the question was the same either way. "That bad?"

He wasn't entirely certain Lance even heard him; the other man was barely whispering under his breath now. "Her name was Charlie… Charlotte." His expression went distant, his voice trailing off, and he turned and punched the bag so hard it nearly went off its mooring.

Flynn watched silently, closing his eyes as it all fell together. "I'm sorry," he said softly. Not for saying what had to be said—he wasn't sorry for that at all. But he could admit when he'd earned a bruise fair and square. Opening his eyes he watched Lance for another moment, rolling his shoulders and seething, wrapped up in memories. "I can leave you alone," he offered. He'd expected to be ordered the hell out, and was surprised when Lance just laughed darkly. "…Or not?"

"Nah. You got the intel you wanted, right?" Sigh. "Look, I still wish we'd set a trap but I get it was a stupid idea, after I calmed down a bit. Still want them all dead, though… hating them is all I've got."

_Is it really?_ "I find that unlikely, Best Pilot in the Galaxy." He crossed his arms. "But we are here to find a way to stop them."

Lance smirked at that, but it didn't last. "Yeah… but we're leaving that place to get looted. They'll destroy what's left of… whoever lived there's home." He looked away. "Their _home!"_

True enough. But what would it matter? "They'd already been forgotten," Flynn said quietly.

_Huh?_ Lance's head snapped up; the engineer was looking elsewhere too, clenching his fists. Strange reaction, unless… "It get to you too?"

"…Yes."

"Someone lived there," he repeated quietly, shocked at himself for saying this out loud. But the words kept coming. "It felt… wrong, taking things."

"We had to." Lance braced himself for something about the mission, and didn't get it. "Someone had to. That was a city and all their own people remember is some legend about beasts in the clouds."

"Well… Weird Bird Dude did seem to have notes beyond just the warning. But he thought they were boring, who thinks ruins are boring?"

"Terinians, apparently." Flynn's expression darkened and his voice lowered. "…Most people, honestly."

"I guess." Lance cracked a small smile. "Always wanted to be a real adventurer, you know? Just didn't think it would make me feel so _guilty_."

"It's never that damn simple, is it?"

"Fuck no. Never."

"Not that losing things is ever supposed to be simple, I guess…" He sounded a bit distant.

_Shit, I feel that_. "Yeah. It's fucking not." He was still watching Flynn carefully, and hesitated when the other man startled. Maybe he hadn't been supposed to hear that. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"…It's okay." Flynn gave him a searching look; shit, his eyes were _piercing_ when he got like that.

Lance met them. "Yeah?"

Flynn was flailing a little. Deep space thrust differentials were more his speed than deep conversations. But Lance seemed to be warming back up to him, and they really couldn't afford any more outbursts…

_Yes, that's definitely why you're asking._

"You… sound like you do need to talk, you know."

Was that an observation or an invitation? Either way Lance's jaw clenched. "It's not…" Shit, of course he needed to, it was the only explanation for how much he'd said already. But he didn't want to. He couldn't _do_ it. "Could you?"

It wasn't a fair question. Maybe that was why Flynn looked like he'd been punched again. Or maybe it wasn't. "No," he laughed bitterly, "I can't."

Can't?

Not couldn't. _Can't_.

"What happened?" he asked, shocked. He felt a little guilty for pushing, especially when Flynn scowled and looked away, but the guilt didn't last. He'd just somehow let his dead sister's name slip, this guy could deal with questions too.

Maybe he came to the same conclusion. "Have you ever heard of Dathreil?"

"Not ringing any bells."

"Didn't expect so." Shrug. "It was a colony out in the Pacifica Sector, until it mostly blew itself to hell in a nuclear war two hundred years ago."

Lance's eyes widened. "That's… you're from a nuked planet?" Their meeting at the Razorlight came back to him. "Aren't you from Arizona?"

"Might've lied a little about that," Flynn admitted. He had good enough reason to… he didn't like talking about _this_. Though less because it was personal and more because it sounded insane.

Though it was also personal.

"Go on."

"What was left after the war suppressed their real history and put together a false theocracy to survive. They'd take children and raise them in training camps to become 'priests'… really the technicians who keep what's left of the planet's technology running." He wasn't looking at Lance; he wasn't really looking at anything. "Having failed priests running around would kind of ruin the charade, so if you wash out of training you get exiled." He gave a small, grim smile. "To Arizona."

Somewhere in the middle of that Lance's eyebrows had started going up, and they hadn't really stopped. But somehow Flynn's muted tone made it sound more sad than bizarre. "That's _weird_ ," he said finally, not sure what else to say. "So when did you get exiled?"

"When I couldn't stop asking questions they didn't have answers to."

…Of fucking _course_ he had. Lance dialed the feigned disbelief up to eleven. "You? Ask questions people don't want to answer?"

Flynn looked at him, then burst into laughter. "I'm sure that just _shocks_ you."

Grinning, Lance shook his head, them sobered a bit. "That's a lot to process." But one thing was clear. "Guess we both got ourselves shipped to Earth for crappy reasons, huh?"

"Pretty much." Sighing, Flynn looked at the floor. Earth had been an alien paradise, and all it had cost him was everything he'd known and believed. "I understand losing everything. Maybe you're lucky… at least you have someone to hate for it."

Immediately after he said it he winced and stepped back; it hadn't come out right, and Lance's fists clenched. "Not _lucky_."

"Yeah, that's… not what I was going for there. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I get it." Lance looked up at him, understanding exactly what he'd meant. "Not gonna punch you again."

"I appreciate that, anyway."

"I'll save it for the Galra."

"Good call."

As the conversation trailed off, Lance found himself feeling… better? How the hell had _that_ happened? He gave Flynn a look, and got a raised eyebrow in return. Yes, definitely feeling better. He should probably thank him for that, but that would just be weird, wouldn't it?

Though there was something he really _did_ owe him. "Yeah, so for real." He shook his head. "Thanks about not telling Kogane."

"You're welcome. Didn't see much point in it, we're already an Explorer Team anyway." Flynn hesitated. "…And I probably deserved it."

"Maybe, but I probably deserved a punch back. Guess you owe me one."

To be fair, he absolutely would have gotten one—maybe more than one—had Hunk not intervened. But that was long past; Flynn just waved it off. "Oh that's what I need, the doctor bitching me out for breaking your nose. Or missing and breaking something on me, that's a thing that also happens." Hand to hand was really not his strong point.

Lance laughed, shaking his head again at how quickly the tone had shifted. "Has he seen that?" he asked, indicating the engineer's jaw. It was actually a very nice jaw when he wasn't having to punch it.

"No," Flynn answered with a mock glare, "and if you tell him about it I'll tell Kogane how I got it."

Lance threw a playful salute. "Yes sir!"

Flynn groaned. "Knock that bullshit off." Wink. "As long as you don't punch me again you're still not _my_ problem."

"Nah… think I like you too much for that shit to happen again anyway." This had gone from screamingly awkward to feeling like they were back at the bar. "Who knew?"

"Strange things can happen. Besides, you still have to teach me about beer."

"I do…" _And I fucking need one after that conversation._ "Let's go get started now, huh?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea." Flynn stretched, his work jacket rustling. As Lance leaned over to retrieve his own, somewhat less work-oriented jacket, he caught a glimpse of the other man's sidearm holster and remembered…

"Is that a fucking Desert Eagle?"

Oh, right. Flynn had completely forgotten about that, though he didn't think he could be blamed for it. "Yes, yes it is." He gave a slightly sheepish laugh. "I know it's not at _all_ practical, but it… has some sentimental value. I've at least managed to mostly fix the jamming issue." He gave the weapon a mildly irritated look. "Mostly."

Shockingly enough, it turned out their pilot wasn't judging him on practicality. "That is fucking awesome, let me fire it sometime?"

Grin. "I don't quite trust this holo range to take real bullets, and I like our hull without holes. But next time we get to a ground range you're on."

"Hell yeah." Lance smirked. "I'll show you some of my babies too."

"Some of?" Now that he mentioned it, Flynn hadn't gotten a great look at his guns during the fight, but they were definitely not standard issue either. He grinned again. "How many are you carrying?"

"Currently? Three."

"Total?"

"Back home?" For a moment he was obviously mentally counting, then shook his head. "Shit, I've lost count. I might have a problem. Especially with my sniper rifles."

Sniper rifles. Plural? "I'm sorry, I could've sworn you just said you own multiple sniper rifles. I don't see a _problem_."

A huge grin split Lance's face. Hell yes, he really did like this guy… even if they'd gone from past trauma to bonding over bullets in what had to be record time. Why not? "Convincing argument."

"Shouldn't mix guns and beer, though." Smirk. "Usually."

"Dude," Lance gestured dismissively, "I can handle my beer."

"I'd be more worried about the beer handling you."

"That wasn't my fault!" He was never going to live that down, was he?

"We'll find out, I suppose."

"You'll find out."

"Well _that's_ ominous."

"Meant to be." Lance winked. "Come on, grease monkey, let the beer education begin!" He headed for the stairs back to the main deck, passing by Flynn…

…Who punched him in the arm as he walked past. Lightly. "There, we're even."

Lance tried to look offended, but it was a lost cause. All he could do was burst out laughing as they started up the stairs together.

*****

The Royal Chapel stood on the castle grounds, just a short walk from one of the side doors. The path leading to it was paved in pristine white tiles, lined by golden dahlias and lilies in elegant planters. It was a walk that was supposed to encourage piety and calm… but Lady Nandara Hys was not much in the mood for _calm_.

Being the castle governess had never been an easy job, certainly not with the High King wanting to 'change' and 'modernize' things around the castle. Nanny would never question the King's wisdom directly, but she did wonder why such things were necessary. The old ways had built Arus and made it strong. What could change do but throw everything into disarray? But if that was what he wanted, she would be there to aid the transition, fulfilling her royal oath to the Court and the Crown.

If it were up to _her_ , part of fulfilling that oath would include kicking the hellion from the Seven Isles out on her improperly-attired backside.

It wasn't up to her.

Sighing, she bowed to the doors of the chapel and stepped inside, bowing again as the royal archbishop rose to greet her. "No need to trouble yourself, Your Eminence. I am only here for the usual…"

He gave a sympathetic chuckle. "Understood, Lady Hys. May the Golden Light shine upon you."

The Hall of Worship was empty, which suited her just fine. The shrines of the five Golden Gods were silently awaiting the reverence they were due. She shied away slightly from the statue of the Silent Exile, the gaunt incarnation of death; to the Radiant Warrior and Shining Sage she bowed again, murmuring thanks for their protection and wisdom. Finally she stopped at the end of the hall, the masters of the pantheon: the Honored Mother and Exalted Father, resplendent in their thrones, stern overseers of all that was right and proper in the world.

Nanny's parents had both been high-ranking priests of the Honored Mother, and it was their piety that had inspired her to enter into royal service. Bless their sainted hearts, the Exile had taken them both before they could see what a mess she was in now. This task bordered on impossible. She should have been given _years_ to sort the girl out, not months. But this was what she had.

Divine intervention, then.

She lit a candle—chemically treated to ensure a rich gold flame—and set it at the statue's feet. "Honored Mother, grant me the patience to complete my sacred tasks," she murmured. "Guide me in handling this… this _hooligan_ who is to be called a Lady, and protect my dear Princess and Prince from being influenced by her wildness."

Not that her dear Princess and Prince appreciated her efforts much more than Larmina did. But at least they were manageable. They understood the importance of their rank and their duty. They didn't do things like… like…

…Like smuggling literal _wild animals_ indoors to her lessons! Bad enough the castle was infested with space mice. Nanny had moved heaven and earth to get the Receiving Hall cleared out for an hour, to get some unoccupied castle staff and even a couple of minor dignitaries to assist with the lesson. She had certainly _not_ invited any tevonts—fluffy purple vermin native to the Arusian forests—to her carefully planned event. But half a dozen of them had somehow appeared anyway.

The footmen had still been trying to corner then when she'd dismissed herself and headed to the chapel.

"What am I to _do_ with her?" she asked the Mother's silent presence. What she would certainly not do was plead to King Alfor for intervention, or indeed tell him about the incident at all, if she could help it. It would be all but admitting she couldn't handle her duties. "Let her see your wisdom, I beg of you. Let her come to understand her duties and her place before her debut." Her tone became a little plaintive. "Let this ball be something, anything, but a disaster…"

The candle sputtered. A few glittering sparks rose up from the flame, accompanied by acrid chemical smoke. Nanny drew back slightly. The consecrated candles would do that every so often, but the timing seemed… inauspicious. Or perhaps it meant her plea had been heard?

Yes. She would hope for the best. It was all she could do, really. The worst was already here.


	9. Hit the Fan

Keith had spent a couple of days debating this, but finally decided it had to be done. Just to make the point. Things had to be addressed if the unit was going to run smoothly, not just left alone.

"Kleid, you got a minute? Come on up to the conference room."

Flynn didn't acknowledge the order, but within two minutes he was walking in the door. The _Firecrown_ was not a large ship. "What's up?" He had his ponytail over his shoulder, which was unusual and probably impractical. But wearing it that way covered up the dark bruise on his jaw.

"Don't try to hide it, I saw it the other day."

"…Habit," Flynn shrugged, flipping his hair back.

Right. "I know why you didn't report it. I don't blame you for doing it."

Immediately his second's demeanor frosted over. It was slight, but it was there. "Excuse me?"

Keith leaned back in his chair, watching for a moment to see if he'd break. He didn't. Not surprising, really. "Nothing bad is going to happen to him… nor you. But I know what happened."

Flynn hissed under his breath. "Faex, Garrett…"

"No." Keith shook his head. "He didn't spill."

"…No? Not like I could really order him to lie to you anyway."

"No, but you did order him not to tell, and he was true to his word. I guessed… correctly."

"I see." Flynn shook his head. "You _did_ leave us in a pretty volatile situation."

"I know. I'm sorry." Keith sighed and gestured to the bruise. "That, I know, was meant for me."

That earned him a very strange look. "I can pretty well assure you I earned it myself, actually. Besides, I generally figure the bridge crew is your problem, but… defusing that sort of thing for you _is_ part of my job."

That was not something Keith particularly wanted to hear. He'd spent his whole career trying to be hands-on and accountable, not leaving things to subordinates that he wouldn't do himself. He sure as hell didn't want anyone under his command taking punches for him. But it wasn't entirely incorrect, so he just nodded. "Given that, do you have any suggestions on how we might avoid such incidents in the future?"

"I've already talked to him."

That wasn't an answer. "I figured you would have, but I'd prefer to have more information instead of just leaving you to defuse that powder keg." He nodded towards his datapad; he'd done a little more research on Lance after the incident. "Considering his past, it's understandable, but the Galra are a very… touchy subject for him."

Flynn considered that for a minute. "Granted. But the only thing I can tell you about the actual situation is that he seemed like he snapped out of it after he punched me, so—"

A massive _crack_ cut him off, the ship lurching and shaking violently around them for several seconds. Before the shaking was finished several alarms started screaming. And just as abruptly as it had started the wild motion stopped. In fact, _all_ sense of motion stopped, the telltale sign of no longer being in hyperspace.

_What the hell…?_

Keith looked at Flynn, nodded, and they both ran for the bridge.

*****

Lance was on bridge duty, and it _had_ been going just fine. Now he yanked the controls, fighting to recover as the _Firecrown_ jolted out of hyperspace. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck." He kept muttering the mantra under his breath. The ship was nearly impossible to maneuver.

With a hiss the bridge hatch opened, admitting Keith with Flynn right on his heels. "Status report!" He'd barely finished the command when Sven appeared, running straight to his console.

"Something yanked us out of hyperspace," Lance answered through gritted teeth. "There are gravitational issues."

"Gravitational issues?" Flynn repeated quietly. "In the middle of nowhere in real space?" He moved up and looked over Sven's shoulder.

"Got me, but I know what I'm feeling."

Flynn didn't doubt that… and the patterns showing up on Sven's monitors were familiar. More familiar than he appreciated. "Faex."

Lance checked his own monitors, but didn't see anything immediately worrisome. "What is it?"

"Breach containment disruptor. It's a kind of… hyperspace tripwire. Usually only pirates use it." He grimaced. "And gravitational disruption points to an interdiction field."

_Of course._ The engineer's words made everything click in Sven's mind. "That would explain it." Interdiction fields were localized gravity wells that prevented ships from breaching into hyperspace; they frequently involved gravitational pulses rather than stationary fields, just to make it harder on any ships caught inside. "We won't be able to jump back out."

Wonderful. Keith closed his eyes for a moment. "Sven, find the source." He crossed over to the command chair, bringing up the main screen, and got even worse news. "We have incoming. Three contacts. They're circling around us." The approaching ships were smaller than the _Firecrown_ , but that wasn't a good thing. Under these circumstances they were sure to be fighters, and that could make for some serious trouble.

"I can't get an exact location on the source," Sven reported, typing furiously. "I just have a general direction."

"Fucking pirates," Lance muttered. He was still trying to maneuver, but the gravity kept fluctuating; whenever he thought he was getting a feel for it, it changed. "We got a plan, boss?"

As if prompted by his words, the comms crackled on an open frequency. "Attention  _Endeavor-_ class, we have you surrounded. Shut down your engines and all non-essential systems and prepare to be boarded."

_Like hell_. Keith narrowed his eyes. "All hands to battle stations. This is _not_ a drill!"

Flynn immediately bolted from the bridge, looking more than a little relieved to be doing so. Lance and Sven were really already where they belonged, and with Hunk being on shift he would be too. But after a moment, a question he hadn't considered came over the comms. "Uh, boss? Do I have a battle station?"

Jace. No. No, he did not. "Doc, just… stay in your quarters and don't get hurt." Keith returned his focus to the monitors. "Holgersson, we need the location of whatever's creating this gravity field. McClain, when he finds it, you do what you can to get us close to it. Kleid, we need those missiles up and armed. _Yesterday_."

"Awesome, we got a plan," Lance grinned. "Okay Viking, find me Valhalla to point us toward."

Sven debated telling him all the reasons that metaphor was incorrect, but it didn't seem like the time. "The gravity pulses are generating from our left. I won't know its exact location until we get closer."

"Left it is." Lance gritted his teeth. It was painfully slow, but the _Firecrown_ was moving. Sure it felt like they were trying to push a very large brick wall ahead of them, but moving was moving.

Flynn sprinted into the engine bay at top speed; Hunk was already there, running diagnostics on the breach drive. "Hunk, you're on point defense." He ran to the main console and pulled up the missile status.

_Ohhh boy_. "You got it, pit boss!" No sense waiting for the diagnostics to finish. _There are bad guys outside_ was a good enough diagnosis for now. He called up the defense console. "Turrets are all green."

"Good." Flynn grimaced as he worked past the weapons failsafes. "Gunnery console is unlocked, Kogane. There's a small complication."

"What complication?"

"We don't have time to reroute it back here." Point defenses, being largely automated, were controlled from the bay, but for the real weapons the ship's designers had assumed there would actually be someone at that empty gunnery console on the bridge. "Hope you can shoot and give orders at the same time."

Oh, was that all? Keith smirked, crossing over to the gunnery chair. "Got it."

Lance spared him a brief look. _Well that smirk is scary_. No time to dwell on that. "Viking? Getting stronger readings yet?"

"If I had anything that would help I would tell you," Sven answered delicately.

"Hold your course, McClain." Keith targeted the nearest of the pirates, praying to anyone or anything who might be listening. "And let's hope this works."

"I'll get us more left then," their pilot muttered. This was more like trying to maneuver in choppy seas than in deep space, and he damn sure hadn't signed on to drive _boats_.

"Missile away," Keith announced, and the ship's frame shuddered slightly. "Come on…"

The missile left a streak of blue flame and a faint afterimage in the darkness as it sped towards the nearest pirate fighter. Once it visibly wavered in the pulsing gravity, but it flew true. Maybe the pirates were impeded by their own trap. Maybe they just couldn't react fast enough. Either way, the missile slammed into the belly of the fighter and vanished along with its target in a fiery explosion.

Lance nodded silent appreciation for the shooting. What came next made him even more appreciative. "Lance, adjust your course fifteen degrees starboard. The pulse there is weaker, you should be able to move the ship a little better."

Following Sven's instructions, he immediately felt the _Firecrown_ pick up speed, and gave a long sigh of relief. It was a start, at least…

If only they had some ideas on how to get _out_ of this.

*****

Back in the bay, several alarms were sounding—whoever had designed this ship wanted to be very certain its crew knew when it was in over its head, apparently. The problem was there were too many alarms to really single anything important out. Scowling, Flynn slammed the overrides and took up manual monitoring just in time to see the first fighter go down.

"Nice shooting, Kogane," he muttered under his breath. No time to celebrate; a warning light flashed. "Hunk! Enemy missile lock."

"Ain't a problem, pit boss!" Hunk watched the targeting screen light up with new flares, painting each one for the defense systems. The computer could lock onto a heat signal and guide the turrets to knock it out of the sky; what the computer could _not_ reliably do was figure out which heat signals were enemy missiles as opposed to, well, a lot of other things. Like engines. And tracers. And _friendly_ missiles.

It just needed a little help. Good thing Hunk enjoyed being helpful.

A series of sharp clicks indicated the turrets swinging into place, and flickers of violet laser light split the darkness. "Missiles down."

"Missile away," Keith called out over the main comms at nearly the same moment. Hunk watched its heat signature spiral towards one of the fighters, and graze right past the pirate's wing as the target pulled off some pretty impressive evasion. The missile blinked away into… darkness?

_Wait a sec…_

What had initially appeared as a distant star had just flickered. Stars didn't _flicker_ in space. Eyes widening, Hunk increased the range of the defense console's scans. "Uh, pit boss? We got a problem…"

That wasn't news. "You want to specify?"

"There's another ship out there. Stationary, but it's uh, it's kinda big."

"…Yes, that's a problem." Flynn checked the distance scans and hissed in shock. "Ceve. Kogane, we have what looks to be a _Leyte_ -class carrier up ahead. As in, we're flying right at it. Thought you might want to know."

If things weren't so dire he'd have been embarrassed. Admittedly, the circumstances they'd jumped into didn't lend themselves to calmly assessing the surroundings… but there was losing a bit of situational awareness in combat, and then there was the entire team _missing a goddamn carrier_.

Another missile launched from the _Firecrown_ , this one taking out the pirate who'd dodged their last shot. "A carrier?" Keith repeated grimly. "I'm willing to bet that's the source of our gravity field."

"What, it's somewhere on the ginormous bad guy ship?" Hunk muttered. "Good! Glad we could narrow it down." Flynn looked up long enough to shoot him a surprised glance, and he grinned. "Gotta snark at least once in awhile, pit boss. I don't wanna _not_ fit in with the team."

…He had a point there.

*****

It was all Sven could do to make sense of his scans. Navigational monitors were intended for reading fluctuations in hyperspace energies, not real space gravitational pulses. Even when he thought he had a picture, it was constantly shifting. But with a large, solid chunk of metal up ahead, he could at least be sure of one thing. "You'd win your bet, Commander. The generator is definitely on the carrier."

"Well, shit," Lance grumbled. "Okay so, I'll just keep flying towards the huge-ass ship…"

"Do that." Keith closed his eyes. The _Leyte_ -class was an obsolete old workhorse that had never been outfitted for direct combat, but who knew what these pirates might have done to it. Either way, it was huge and inconvenient. "We've only got three missiles left. We're not going to be able to take out the last ship on our tail and that carrier with only three missiles." Hell, they'd barely dent the carrier alone.

"We don't need to take out the carrier," Sven countered. "Only the generator."

"Which has to be on the outside of the ship somewhere," Flynn agreed, "or it would rip it apart. Most likely one of the weapons bays."

That sounded a bit more promising, at least. "Okay. McClain, get us closer." He grimaced as the _Firecrown_ lurched; he'd have preferred to not have to get anywhere near a ship that size in this unpredictable gravity. "And be sure you don't run _into_ it."

Their pilot scoffed. "What do you take me for?"

"…You really want me to answer that?"

"Maybe later."

Smirking, Keith dropped his crosshair over the last fighter as it darted in close. "Missile away." There was no way the pirate was going to dodge _that_. It had come in too close. Close enough that the explosion rocked them slightly, but then they were past the debris and all clear…

"Missile lock from the carrier," Flynn called out. "Correction. Locks."

…Okay, not all clear. "Son of a…"

"Bitch?" Lance volunteered, making an attempt at evasion that didn't accomplish much of anything.

"I've got 'em," Hunk assured them. "Probably."

Well that was encouraging. Keith narrowed his eyes, trying to pick a spot to aim on the carrier. Maybe aiming wasn't necessary. He was pretty damn certain he could _hit_ the thing. Taking a deep breath, he fired the last two missiles and hoped for a miracle.

"Lance, if you get below the ship we should be able to move better, the pulses seem weaker." The closer they got to the carrier, the more Sven could make out the patterns… though there were still problems. "Fair warning though, the closer we get to the source the harder it's going to be to move."

"Fucking brilliant," Lance growled under his breath. "Fucking gravity bullshit." But slipping below the other ship's plane of operation did seem to help for the moment, and he grinned.

The missiles Keith had fired reached the carrier, exploding into twin fireballs on its hull. At the same time the carrier's missiles curved to track them, and the point defense turrets clicked into position. "Brace yourselves," Hunk warned suddenly, "this is gonna suck!"

Nobody really had time to brace.

There were some limitations to point defenses; particularly, shooting down certain missile types too near the ship tended to cause splash damage. It was still better than taking a large metal projectile to the hull, no _doubt_. And the Firecrown's turrets did manage to prevent that, but several of the missiles still detonated close enough to fling the ship violently to one side.

Keith was thrown from his chair; he'd neglected to actually strap in at the gunnery console. Not that he had much reason to be there anymore now that they were out of missiles. "Damage report!"

"Shields are holding," Flynn reported after a moment. "They won't hold again. Looks like you got at least one of the carrier's launchers, that'll help."

Ignoring the new kink in his neck and ache in his muscles from the explosions, Lance corrected their course and scowled. "I hate gravity."

Apparently that had been loud enough for the comms to catch; Flynn laughed humorlessly. "It hates you too, flyboy."

"It _fears_ me."

"Lance, I've got something," Sven interrupted urgently. "Look at this." With the source close and the fighters no longer disrupting things, the pattern was finally completely clear to him. A series of gravitational ripples was emanating from the carrier's starboard side. They were irregular, chaotic… but there were gaps. The same weaker spots they'd been chasing this far, painted with perfect clarity.

"Hell yes," Lance grinned. _This_ he could deal with. Immediately he pitched the _Firecrown_ to the side, falling into one of the narrow bands between pulses. "Just keep that info coming, Viking."

The ripples were expanding, of course. If they just stayed in the weak zone they'd only get further away from the carrier. No problem. He throttled the engines up, building as much speed as he could before wrenching around and sending them punching through one of the pulses. It bled off most of their momentum, but that was workable. He _had_ this.

Slowly, the Firecrown began spiraling in on its target.

*****

Though they didn't have the same scans Sven had access to, it was clear enough in the bay what was going on. Good tactics, but there was a small problem still.

"So uh, what do we do when we find this thing?" Hunk asked hesitantly. "Kinda outta missiles."

"I don't think these missiles could lock on something that precise even if we had them," Flynn pointed out.

"Yeah, true."

"There has to be something we can do." The frustration was clear in Keith's voice. "What about the point defenses? What do we have there?"

The point defenses? Flynn blinked. "Twelve laser turrets, eight vulcan turrets." He had an idea of where this was going. "They're designed for quick tracking and precision, they don't have much power or range."

"Can they be manually targeted? Because unless you're hiding more missiles somewhere on this rust bucket, they're all we've got!"

Oh yes, it had gone there. He exchanged glances with Hunk. "Kogane, that's insane."

"Totally insane," the other engineer agreed, and a wide grin spread over his face. "I like it."

Flynn grinned back. "Same." He started running calculations. "Lance, you're going to have to get us _close_. We’ll get the effective range of the lasers up as much as we can, but we'll have to divert power from the shields."

He could almost hear the matching grin in Lance's voice. "Finally we're going to do some Explorer Team fuckery."

"Language," Keith grumbled.

"Oh, sorry. Finally some Explorer Team _bleepablip_."

"Will you just _fly_ and get us to that ship?"

"I'm pushing her as fast as she'll go, trust me."

The shriek of the engines backed _that_ up, at least. As they worked their way through the interdiction field, Hunk switched the point defense targeting to manual. Or tried to. "Pit boss, the computer needs authorization cuz I'm askin' it to do somethin' stupid."

Flynn smirked and entered his command code into his own console, which had popped up with the computer's equivalent of _what the fuck are you thinking?_ while Hunk spoke. The _Endeavor_ -class really didn't expect its crew to know anything about combat. Though nearly as soon as he'd okayed the request, the pirates decided to make him reconsider. "Missile lock!"

"Oh that is _not cool_." The targeting screen had dissolved into a mess of about ten different crosshairs and overlapping firing arc lines. It wasn't going to be pretty…

"Brace for impact!" Keith ordered.

Now _that_ wasn't cool either. "No faith, boss!" Rather than even bother trying to target the incoming missiles, he just hit the trigger and held it. The missiles slammed into a solid wall of fire and exploded harmlessly. "Impact my ass…"

"No thanks," Flynn mumbled under his breath.

Hunk glanced over at him. "Dude, now who's… okay I kinda deserved that."

"Kind of."

*****

Lance was not thrilled with being bailed out by desperation point defense. "Wish I could fucking do evasive maneuvers." Not that there was any real room for that anyway, having to keep the _Firecrown_ to the narrow gaps in the field. But the point still stood.

Keith sighed in relief. "Good shooting, Garrett. …At least I think that's who I should be thanking?"

"Always thank your bomb guy!" Hunk answered brightly.

"Holgersson, tell me you've got that generator."

"Yes sir." Sven had been refining the coordinates with every pass. "It's right underneath the bridge of the carrier, starboard side."

"I see it," Hunk confirmed. "Got it locked into the system, we're still outta range."

Still? It felt like they were insanely close. Keith watched the carrier looming in the main screen, fighting down nerves. Capital ships getting so close in combat nearly always meant mutually assured destruction. The _Firecrown_ wasn't even close to being a capital ship, but years of training were hard to shake. All he could do right now was observe and trust his team.

"Commander." Flynn sounded less confident than he would've liked, but who could blame him? "Request permission to drop shields."

"Do it."

The lights flickered as the ship's power systems rerouted. They were passing around the port side of the carrier now, the generator hidden behind at least a hundred meters of armored hull. Keith found himself holding his breath.

And the last thing he'd wanted to hear came over the comms. "Enemy missile lock."

"Hunk, it has to go _now_."

"Punch it, bro!"

"On it!" There was only one option for punching it at this stage. Lance wrenched the controls around, no longer following the gaps, pushing the engines to max and cutting sharply in towards the carrier. The ship was thrown as violently as if they'd actually taken missile impacts, but he kept forcing it. "Come on, girl…"

Would Hunk be able to target effectively under these conditions? No, he couldn't worry about that. He just had to get them there.

The _Firecrown_ came around the carrier's stern, and a flurry of short-beam lasers and low-caliber tracers linked them to the carrier with a tether of blinding light.

The generator detonated.

The resistance vanished.

"Fuck yeah!" Lance grinned like a loon as they shot forward, putting distance between themselves and a flurry of missiles meant to track much slower targets. Not even Keith's glare could dampen his excitement. "I mean, YIPPEEEE! Real flight!"

"Kleid, tell me the breach drive is good," Keith growled.

"It's good enough. Go!"

"Holgersson, we need a jump, now! McClain, get us the hell out of here."

"Yes sir!" Sven had been ready. As soon as he got the order the coordinates were in, pointing the general direction they'd been heading before hitting the trap. Lance was more than ready, bringing them around and engaging the breach drive.

In a crackle of energy, the Firecrown disappeared into the safety of hyperspace, the missiles detonating harmlessly in their wake.

*****

Keith took a minute just to catch his breath. Combat aboard an actual warship was a much… calmer affair, that was for sure. But they'd made it. That was what mattered.

"Shields are back up," Flynn reported. "Kogane, you want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Give me my vegetables before my dessert, Kleid."

There was a pause that seemed a bit too long. "…We already have two people fighting over the galley…"

Sigh. "Bad, then good."

"Oh. The breach drive took damage from the disruptor."

Of course it had. "Great. How bad is it?"

"Charging is at about 20% efficiency, and we burned our reserve charge with that breach. It's not critical, but it's very inconvenient."

Right now, Keith would take inconvenient. "How long do you need?"

"Not long, it's an easy enough fix, it just can't be done while we're actually in hyperspace. We can do it on Kithran."

"So we're limping the rest of the way, got it. And the good news?"

Another pause. "The fact that it's still working at all _was_ the good news."

Lance snorted; Keith rolled his eyes. "Oh. Well in that case, good." He keyed up the comms back to the passenger quarters. "Doc, you alright back there?"

"Fuck everyone who was responsible for that with a rusty titanium spatula," Jace growled.

Okay then. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Titanium doesn't rust, bro," Hunk said helpfully. That got a few more curses and a cut channel; the big man chuckled. "He's fine."

Clearly. Keith looked at his crewmates on the bridge. "You two okay?"

"I'm fine, sir."

"I need to unclench…"

He couldn't help a smirk. "Go change your underwear, Lance."

Glare. "Oh fuck off… er, boss."

What else could he do after that fight? He burst into laughter.

*****

Allura was in the castle gymnasium, looking through the equipment. She was wearing a light jumpsuit—loose enough for freedom of movement, tight enough not to snag on anything—one of too few casual outfits she could get away with wearing in public. It wouldn't be proper to wear a formal gown for exercising, after all… though, she frowned as she picked up a sleek racquet and examined it. She'd seen people scurry about in knee-length skirts and wide-brimmed hats, trying to chase a tiny ball around and hit it over a net… she wondered who had dreamt up either that endeavor, or that dress code.

_I might never understand…_

Fortunately, not even Nanny was trying to force her into that. Yet. She much preferred horseback riding, but maybe not today. She had duties to perform later, she ought to keep her activity light.

Besides, she wasn't going to be alone.

Larmina knew only that she'd been summoned to a room she wasn't familiar with and told to dress casually. That wasn't very specific, so she was in her workout clothes and if Nanny didn't like it she had only _herself_ to blame. But it wasn't Nanny waiting for her, and she grinned, relieved.

"Oh, Auntie."

"Hello." Allura turned and smiled, still holding the racquet. "Are you ready for a bit of fun?"

"Fun? Is there such a thing here?" Larmina looked around the room; it reminded her of the dojo back home, near the manor. The one her mother had sent her to in secret, determined that her daughter should learn to defend herself… but hadn't expected her daughter to enjoy nearly so much.

Auntie waited for her to finish looking around. "It can be." She gave the racquet a twirl, then set it back on the rack. "Depends on your favorite physical activity."

_Oh REALLY?_ Eyes lightning up, Larmina went over to the equipment and started looking over the selection. It was mostly what she'd have expected from a Big Fat Arusian castle, racquets and bows and little feathery darts. Some she wasn't even sure what they'd be used for, like the ropes fashioned into unwieldy-looking slings. She didn't really expect to find her own specialty here. Staves were _peasant_ weapons, too common and rough to be worthy of delicate noble hands… she'd barely finished thinking it when a glint of dark polished wood caught her eye.

_I am_ so _here for this._

Picking up the quarterstaff, she turned and shrugged. "I'm pretty good with this."

"The staff… a good one." Allura took another from the rack, looking it over. A commoner's weapon it may have been, but it required skill and dexterity, and was certainly more genteel than a blade. "Well then, want a round or two?"

That earned her a rather doubtful look, but it didn't last long. With a smirk the other girl dropped into a defensive stance. "Depends how bad you want your butt kicked."

Allura chuckled. "We'll have to see about that." She took on her own challenging stance… and had barely gotten her feet set when Larmina lunged, somehow going straight from her defensive crouch into an aggressive sweep at her legs. "Oooh…" She dodged—barely—but was a little taken aback, and her answering sweep was half a second too slow.

Rather than sidestepping, which she could've done easily, Larmina jumped over the sweep and forward again. This got her in easily behind Allura's guard, and she lightly rapped her forehead with a fist before leaping back. Which was emphatically _not_ so genteel. "Should I have mentioned I don't play by royal rules?"

"Maybe…" Allura made a show of sighing, but it turned into a laugh halfway through. "Oh well. Again?"

"I'm in for it." Grin. "Come and get me."

That was the sort of invitation one did not accept at face value, and Allura didn't; she darted forward and gave a short jab before changing the blow and arcing up. She was rewarded, scoring a hit that clipped Larmina's shoulder.

Larmina made a quick feint herself, using it to get some distance. "Nanny lets you train with this?"

"She'd rather I not…" Allura snorted, imitating Nanny's tone as she blocked the next strike and took another sweep for the legs. "It's not  _proper!"_

Planting her staff on the ground to block the sweep, Larmina retreated a little further. "Of course it isn't. But if you don't exercise how are you supposed to fit into your proper frilly corsets?"

"Oh, there are other more proper activities. I just don't like some of them." Allura lunged again.

Larmina blocked just in time, laughing as she stumbled back a step. "I can't imagine liking a whole lot of anything that Nanny approves of."

With her opponent seemingly in retreat, Allura pushed her advantage, pressing harder against the block in an attempt to overpower her. "If she completely had her way, I _would_ be a plump girl, and shocked by just about anything."

_Speaking of shocks…_ pushing back, gauging her strength, Larmina was just waiting for the point of overcommitment. Somewhere in the middle of that sentence she got there. Immediately she spun away, lightly tapping Allura on the shoulder with her staff as the princess struggled to keep her feet—and surprisingly enough, succeeded. Barely. "You're not bad," she acknowledged with a grin.

"You seem better," Allura admitted, exhaling heavily as she straightened. "The staff really is your weapon. Want to see mine?"

_That's because royal sparring is no match for a_ real _dojo._ No point saying that; Auntie had acquitted herself admirably. Maybe she would teach her a few highly improper tricks later. For now, she was curious. "I'd love to."

Replacing the staff, Allura picked up an intricately carved bow and a cluster of arrows. "This is what I love the most." She opened up a control panel on the wall, activating a row of targets on the other side of the room.

Larmina raised an eyebrow. She'd done a little training in archery, of course; it was a proper noble sport. Which was why that little bit of training had been _very_ little. She picked out a bow of her own, then grinned. "Impress me!"

Allura raised her bow, took careful aim, and fired; the arrow buried itself dead in the center of the target. Then she turned to Larmina and gave her a well-deserved raised eyebrow right back.

"…I'm impressed."

"Already?" Allura chuckled. "That was just a simple shot."

_Simple, huh?_ "You know I'm gonna ask to see something less simple now."

"How about this?" Tapping the control panel with the end of her bow, the princess called up a square pillar between them and the targets. "Can you bounce an arrow off this and land it on, mmm… target four?"

Could she _what?_

When exactly this had turned into what she could do, Larmina wasn't sure, but she certainly wasn't going to back down from a challenge. That confidence lasted about until she lifted her bow and tried to visualize the shot. "…Really?"

Auntie just smiled.

Okay, really, then. Taking a deep breath, she drew the bowstring back with all her strength and sighted on the pillar. Target four looked so far _away_ from it. Finally she lined up her best shot and fired.

The arrow struck the pillar dead on, bounced back, and smacked her lightly in the face; the fletching got caught in her hair, leaving the arrow dangling in front of her face like a willowrush branch. "That was… definitely not proper."

Somehow, Allura managed not to laugh out loud. "The strength was there… but the angle was not." Now _there_ was an understatement. She took a few steps to the side and drew her bow, narrowing her eyes as she studied the pillar. Then she let the arrow fly. It shot forward, glanced off the pillar, and buried itself nearly dead center in target four.

Larmina's jaw dropped. _How… but…_ "…if I teach you some staff tricks, will you teach me how to do _that?"_

"I would like that." Allura smiled. "But you have to promise you won't freak Nanny out too much with trick shots. I don't think she's fully recovered from when I tried to do them in the hallways…"

"You what?" The look Larmina gave her was filled with a whole new respect. "Excuse me, you _what?"_

Grin. "Just look carefully at the walls in this wing. You might still see some nicks."

Now it was Larmina who was just barely holding back laughter. "I wish I could've seen her face!" She bit her lip to fight down a giggle. "Okay, I promise not to shoot arrows in the hallways. …When Nanny is around."

They both lost their grip on the laughter at the same moment.


	10. Escalation

Kithran was a small planet orbiting a very large sun; the three planets in its system were all so far distant it had taken awhile for stellar cartographers to realize they were in an orbit at all. There were actually more asteroid belts than planets in the system. The team had carefully picked their way through the sparsest part of the outer ring, and were well on their way to bypassing the outermost planet when Keith finally felt confident enough in the autopilot to call the team together for a briefing.

He wasn't pleased with himself. The incident with the pirates had turned out well enough, true, but it had cost them the bare semblance of combat ability the _Firecrown_ possessed. Keith liked having plenty of options. Firing off all their missiles as he had drastically limited their options in the future.

Pacing in agitation, he completely missed the door opening until Hunk's voice shook him out of it. "Yo boss, what's shakin'?"

"Oh, hi, Hunk." He turned to see the big man plopping a pot of coffee and a box of donuts on the table. "Didn't hear you come in."

"Must've been _way_ preoccupied then," he chuckled.

"Just thinking, that's all."

Jace was the next to arrive, and stopped in the doorway to roll his eyes upon seeing the donuts. Lance nearly ran right into him, and glared; he glared right back and took the furthest seat from the donuts, flipping Keith something that more or less resembled a salute. Keith acknowledged him with a nod.

Lance acknowledged something else. "Oh, donuts!" He grabbed one and shoved it in his mouth, drawing a chuckle from Hunk and disbelieving looks from the other two.

_McClain, please don't choke on that, Doc will kill you…_

Sven came in next, smiling as he saw the donuts, though it faded a little when he realized there were no napkins. But _donuts_. He took one and sat next to Jace, ignoring the judgmental look the medic gave him.

Not unusually, Flynn was the last one in, looking like he'd just been crawling around in a maintenance shaft. Which wasn't unlikely. Keith focused on him. "Well, since we're all here. Kleid, engineering status?"

"Engines are fine. Shields are back up to full. Breach drive… isn't."

That was an uncharacteristic lack of detail. Something told Keith he was better off not asking for elaboration. Lance groaned at the reminder of the downed breach drive, and Sven side-eyed him; _he_ wasn't the one who'd had to recalculate their entire route here to deal with it.

"Once we get there, how long will the breach drive take to fix?"

"Not long." Flynn glanced at Hunk, who looked up from his donut long enough to nod agreement. "Most of the delay will be charging it back up."

"Sounds good." Keith looked around the table, silently inviting anyone else who needed to make a report. Nobody did. "Okay, so this is our next stop." He pushed a button on his datapad, and a large tan and gold sphere appeared hovering over it. "Kithran. An uninhabited desert planet."

"Don't suppose it has a beach?"

"Well, it has the sand half of the beach."

"Ugh, sand without oceans sucks."

Keith blinked, looking between Lance and Sven, and decided to just let that go. "All we have are some coordinates, no indication of what might be there, other than sand. Not much is known about Kithran."

"Can we build sand castles?"

"We're going to be fixing the breach drive, Hunk…"

"I wanna build sand castles."

Well, he'd ignored Lance and Sven, he could ignore Hunk and Flynn too, he supposed. Though he couldn't help shaking his head slightly. "Intel seems to think even if there was any life here once, the planet became uninhabitable after a severe solar storm. Though it does still have a breathable atmosphere."

Lance crossed his arms. "So we're supposed to sift through the sand?"

"It was on that Galra list for a reason, presumably. We have to check it out."

Of course Lance couldn't let that go by without muttering some choice words about the Galra under his breath, which got him a wary look from Flynn. Hunk's priorities were elsewhere. "So you guys get to have fun in the sun while we do work." He grinned and took another donut. "I guess it's fair. Bring me some sand back, yeah?"

"You want sand?"

"It's probably irradiated by solar flares, dumbass."

"Why would you want sand?"

"Sand castles!" The big man saluted with half a donut. "I won competitions back home."

Keith sighed. "Gentlemen…"

"Gentlemen?" Lance repeated with a smirk.

Whatever response he might have made to that was cut off by the shrill staccato beeping of the ship's comms reporting an incoming transmission. _Odd_. He turned and adjusted the comm panel on the wall, receiving a blast of static for his trouble. Not a standard frequency, it seemed. With a few more adjustments he was able to clear the static.

A calm, deep voice filled the conference room. "Approaching vessel. You are in the wrong place. Leave or be destroyed."

Hunk dropped his donut, and Sven's eyes widened. "Uh…"

"…Porra…"

"Shit."

"That's… not ominous," Keith said quietly, standing and heading for the bridge.

"Not even a little," Flynn agreed. "Hunk, come on."

Jace watched as Lance and Sven followed Keith out, and the engineers headed for the bay. What was he supposed to do, go back to his quarters and not get hurt? Fuck that, nobody had called for battle stations yet. He followed the others to the bridge.

Keith was already in his command chair, scanning the system. "Where is that coming from?"

"Working on tracing it," Flynn answered. "It would help if we could get another transmission."

Lance looked up from his own monitors. "You want us to say hi?"

"Or tell them where they can shove their transmissions?" Jace muttered under his breath.

Obviously, Flynn hadn't heard that second part. "It would help."

Well, it was worth a try. Keith keyed up the same frequency. "Unidentified craft, this is the CES _Firecrown_. Please tell us the location we are supposed to be avoiding."

The response came back instantly. "Approaching vessel. You are in the wrong place. Leave or be destroyed."

"Wow," Lance muttered, "don't you know any other words?" Even the tone had been identical.

Which was explained a moment later. "It's not a live transmission."

Keith blinked. "Say again, Kleid?"

"Try to contact them again."

That wasn't an answer, but Keith shrugged. The last attempt hadn't gotten them blown out of the sky. "Again, unidentified craft, please tell us the area we are to avoid." Maybe a little embellishment would help. "We are in desperate need of repairs."

"Approaching vessel. You are in the wrong place. Leave or be destroyed."

"We are the Borg. Resistance is futile." Lance hadn't even bothered to keep his voice down that time, and the internal comms picked up Hunk's snicker loud and clear. Nobody else found it funny.

"Huh?"

"What are you talking about, McClain?"

Lance just gave a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head at his uncultured crewmates. _We need movie night_.

Flynn interrupted the confusion. "Got it. It's coming from somewhere near the second planet in the system. It seems to be on a frequency trigger of some sort, our passive scanners probably triggered the initial broadcast."

"Great." Keith closed his eyes for a moment. "We're supposed to be going to the second planet." He typed in a few commands, focusing long-range scanners on the planet in question.

"No sign we've been detected by anyone."

That was something. "Maybe it's something automated, and whoever planted it is gone?"

"Yes…" Sven was obviously trying to sound confident. It wasn't working. "Maybe they are."

"Or maybe it told someone else where we are," Lance suggested quietly.

"I can build us some missiles," Hunk volunteered, "soon as we… uh… get to the ground. Uh, never mind."

If they made it to the ground, Keith was absolutely going to take him up on that, but it seemed like a pretty large _if_ right now. The results of the deep scan were starting to come in, so he turned his attention to the monitors.

Flynn was watching the monitors from the bay, keeping sensor power boosted—wasn't as if their weapons were doing anything. The ship that started to become visible on the screen was like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was long and sleek, with a sickle-like protrusion on the bow and several spikes down the sides that were probably weapons bays. The engine section had what looked like a wide delta stabilizer, but he doubted the thing could really function in atmosphere. Maybe more weapons. Every inch of it looked vicious and deadly.

The Alliance fielded nothing remotely like it, and it didn't fit any Drule aesthetic he knew of. Very few independent planets could hope to field something so large. Glancing over at Hunk, he noted the identical look of confusion, and it sent a chill up his spine as he considered the one other faction that might have cause to be here.

"Fucking dicks," Lance spat, confirming it. "It's the Galra."

"…Well, hell," Hunk muttered under his breath. Flynn nodded in silent agreement. This was going to be… something.

"Just what we need." Keith sighed, then narrowed his eyes at the monitor. "Okay. Get the point defenses up. McClain, get us closer. I want as much information as we can get."

"Will do," Lance acknowledged through gritted teeth, glaring at the ship on the screen.

"Maintain your heading." Keith stood and walked behind the pilot's seat, resting a hand on his shoulder. "But if that ship so much as twitches, get us the hell out of here."

_Give me a shot at them. Just give me a shot._ Lance exhaled and shook his head; they didn't even have anything to shoot with. He knew that. He had to keep it under control. All he could manage to acknowledge the order was a terse nod.

Squeezing his shoulder, Keith returned to his seat and strapped in. Sven took the cue to fasten his own restraints… if history was any indication, this could get really _interesting_ really fast.

"How closely are we supposed to observe them, you think?" Flynn asked after a few minutes of tense silence.

"I don't know. But as closely as possible, I'm sure. If we can find a way to get a team to the ground…"

Lance looked up, frowning. "Observe? I thought we were treasure hunting?

"Didn't you listen to the briefing?" Jace snorted. "We run into Galra, we spy on them or some shit."

"Rather engage," Lance scowled.

"Rather not die," Sven mumbled quietly.

Hunk was a little less quiet. "Us and what missiles, bro?"

Yeah, there was that. "Fucking pirates."

"Missiles wouldn't do us any good anyway," Flynn broke in. "This ship is _huge_. Heavy battleship, easily. If we're going to ground we're going to have to sneak in."

"They're overcompensating," Lance growled.

Jace eyed him. "You'd know all about that, huh?"

Glare. "Project much?"

"You're the one who brought it up."

Keith looked between them and started to say something, but Sven—wait, Sven?—beat him to it. "If we wrap a bit around the planet we should be able to stay out of range of whatever scanners they have, to sneak in." He sounded exasperated.

"Piece of cake," Lance smirked.

"Then perhaps we should _do_ it."

"Do it," Keith agreed. "Get us to ground."

"On it."

"I don't think we can stay grounded with the Galra in orbit," Flynn cautioned. "This ship can't react quickly enough on the ground if they start moving."

Oh. Of course. It was a valid point, but… "We don't have much choice, Kleid. I'm open to suggestions."

Sven spoke up again. "We could leave the ground team with a transmitter, and the ship can fly to a safe distance until they're called back. Or just set a specific time to meet back up?"

"That would work. We can fix the breach drive in the air, as long as it's not in use."

Keith frowned. It was risky, but everything about this was risky. It would be so much easier to just wait the Galra out, pretend they'd never seen them, they'd just been to the site too late… but no. He couldn't do that. They had orders, they had a mission, and they _would_ complete it no matter what. "Okay. We can do it that way."

"Guess this leaves me on the ship?" Lance sounded less than enthused about that, but Keith had honestly expected him to insist on going to ground. Maybe the incident on Terina really _had_ made an impact on him.

"Well, a ship needs her pilot, right McClain?"

"Good, 'cause I'm happy to stay." His tone dripped with sarcasm as he glared at the Galra ship. "I hate sand."

Jace looked at the monitor, frowning. It had been one thing to sit the last expedition out, a short run away if they needed him. Going back into _space_ would be another thing entirely. Besides, he was the only person here trained as infantry… and he'd damn sure rather be wading through sand than hiding in his quarters. "I'll go on the ground team. I've done this shit before."

"Really?"

Keith and Lance both stared at him; he glowered. "You don't have to look so fucking shocked."

For his part, Sven glared at Jace. _Please stop riling him up._ "I'll go with the ground team as well," he offered before they could get started again.

"Sounds good, Holgersson." Keith nodded. "And I'll go, too."

"You'll _what?"_ Flynn demanded immediately.

Keith frowned. "I didn't stutter. You'll have command until we get back, Kleid. You have to repair the ship anyway."

"Kogane, are you…" Whatever he'd been saying trailed off, and the internal link caught the sound of the bay doors hissing open and shut.

"Uh oh," Lance stage whispered, "the parents are gonna fight…" Sven rolled his eyes, and Jace snickered until he remembered just who he was snickering at and bit it back.

The door to the bridge slid open a minute later; Keith turned and narrowed his eyes as Flynn entered. "Do you have a problem with your orders, Lieutenant Commander?"

"I have a problem with you going down there, Commander." Lance looked between them, wishing he had popcorn, then winced slightly at what came next. "You don't have to start taking ridiculous risks just because I got punched last mission and you didn't."

Sighing, Keith stood. "McClain, maintain course. Mr. Kleid, let's take this to the conference room, shall we?"

"…Fine."

As they left the bridge, Lance and Jace exchanged disappointed looks. "Ugh. Spoilsport."

"He was punched on the last mission?" Sven asked, looking more than slightly concerned.

Lance didn't feel all too guilty about that; it had worked out. But he definitely didn't care to explain it. "No comment."

*****

Keith entered the conference room, turning to face his second and crossing his arms. Flynn actually seemed to have relaxed a little after his initial outburst, but he was still clearly annoyed. "Kogane, you know part of my job is to tell you not to do stupid things."

Yes, yes it was. But that was a subjective term. "Stupid things? All we're going to do is observe and report, and I'd be doing it even if you hadn't gotten punched. Besides, I'm leaving _him_ up here with you."

"It's not him I'm worried about," Flynn retorted. "It's our commander thinking he has to go dodge Galra in a desert rather than being here in _command_."

"I _do_ need to. No one else can go, Kleid. You have to fix the ship; I can't do that. And do you really want me to send McClain down there? We both know what will happen if I do that…"

"I can fix the breach drive myself if I have to. Hunk can…" Flynn trailed off as if just now thinking about what he was saying. Which was true. _You're going to suggest he send Hunk on a mission that requires stealth?_ He sighed. "…Belay that."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "Yeah… Garrett is good at his job. He's not a good choice for this mission."

"Fine." Flynn shook his head. "Just be careful."

"I will, and Holgersson and the Doc will have my back. Just keep the ship in one piece and keep an eye on McClain. He's making me nervous."

"I'll keep an eye on him. It'll be okay. Besides," his second gave a wry grin, "we don't have any missiles."

Keith grimaced. "I know. I wish I hadn't had to fire them all."

"You did what you had to do." Scowl. "I, personally, need intel to explain that spectacular screw-up to us—how did they miss an operation with an interdiction field and a carrier? But we can worry about that later."

"Yeah, they're going to get an earful when we get back." Keith looked back towards the door. "I'd best get ready."

"Probably."

Returning to the bridge, he noted Sven was casually standing in between Lance and Jace. Well, whatever worked. "Doc. Holgersson. Get your gear ready." As they departed he turned his attention to Lance. "McClain, best behavior. Keep out of sight of that ship once we're on the ground. And listen to Kleid."

"I'm always a boy scout," Lance smirked, saluting.

Keith stared at him for a long moment, and decided it wasn't even worth responding to that. Time to go pack.

*****

Finding a decent landing site while avoiding the orbiting battleship had been… challenging. Getting back off the ground without being noticed had been even more so. Now Lance found himself in a holding pattern, glaring at the Galra ship on an auxiliary monitor, unable to look away. And he'd been there for _entirely_ too long.

His fingers would've been twitching on the missile launch button, if that button had actually been on his console. Not that they had any missiles, but it would've made him feel better. Maybe. No, probably not.

Finally he snorted, checked over the standby settings, and headed back to the engine bay. The noises he'd been hearing from the lower deck seemed to have lessened a bit over the last hour; maybe the engineers needed some company.

Flynn was in the bay, bent over the access hatch to the lower deck and yelling over an echoing series of _clangs_. "—sure you don't want me to come back down there?"

"Dude!" Hunk's bellow easily drowned out the racket he was making. "I had to stay here and not build sand castles, I'm doin' the heavy lifting!"

Lance paused in the doorway, admiring the view he had of Flynn's backside for a few moments before speaking up. "Why do I feel like his sand castles would be epic?"

The engineer jumped, then turned and grinned at him. "Because he's insane?" Shrug. "An insane genius, but nonetheless, insane."

"I heard that!" Hunk yelled. "…And it ain't wrong!"

"Who isn't insane here?" Lance asked, grinning back.

Flynn smirked. "Apparently I'm not, that's why Kogane left me in charge of you two lunatics. Bridge isn't keeping you busy enough?"

"I'd rather be down there," Lance grumbled. "So, thought I'd distract myself."

"Thought you hated sand."

"Not at much as I hate _them_."

"Fair enough." Flynn leaned back against the main console, crossing his arms, as a new round of heavy clanging erupted from the maintenance shaft.

Lance couldn't help wincing at the noise. "He actually fixing it?"

Laughing, Flynn shook his head. "It's fixed, probably. He's putting the casing back on, can't test fire until it's in place."

Grin. "Might be fun to find out what'd happen."

"Oh I know what would happen, a lot of alarms would start screaming at me about a compromised seal on the charge chamber." Flynn made a face. "It would be fairly irritating."

"Alarms are worse than the banging, yeah," Lance agreed. "Maybe we should ask the big guy to change the alarms to his loud music."

How Hunk actually heard that, he couldn't imagine; maybe the big guy was just immune to all forms of loud. In any case he immediately yelled up at them again. "Can I really?"

Flynn shot Lance a halfhearted glare, which he answered with a cocky grin. "Just get that casing in place, would you?"

"I'm workin' on it, I'm workin' on it. Toss me the spot welder? Maybe don't actually hit me with it this time, yeah?"

_"Hit him,"_ Lance mouthed as Flynn rolled his eyes; the chief had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Then he grabbed the tool in question and pitched it down the maintenance shaft.

There was a yelp as Hunk dodged it and it clattered to the ground at his feet. "Dude!"

"You're a big target, not my fault. Catch better."

"Thanks, pit boss… I think."

"Any time."

For a couple of minutes the banging was replaced by the soft hum of the spot welder. Lance watched Flynn in the comfortable silence, grinning slightly. Then the humming stopped, and Hunk clambered out of the maintenance hatch. "Oughta be done. Test it out?"

Nodding, Flynn turned back to Lance. "It'll take forever to charge with the engines only on station-keeping power. Go do your flyboy thing."

"I just got here!" Lance protested, not that he really meant it. He was more than ready for some flying. Returning to the bridge he put the _Firecrown_ through her paces, kicking the speed up near full just because he could.

He stayed well out of the Galra ship's sight, of course. For a minute he didn't even glare at it.

He didn't see it start moving.

Flynn didn't either; he was wholly absorbed in the breach drive diagnostics. "Lance, we have enough charge for a test fire. It'll throw the ship pretty badly, so you might want to slow down." Smirk. "Or, since you're _you_ , you might want to speed up."

The engines roared. "I've got her under control."

Hunk raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, pit boss, coulda sworn I heard you talkin' about bein' sane not too long ago."

The only response that merited was another smirk. "Firing in five." Test firing a breach drive was simple, in theory. It would create a tiny hyperspace breach for a split second within the drive's containment chamber; not nearly enough to actually send anything into hyperspace, just enough to confirm it could function. In practice, it was also _more_ than enough to throw the ship's equilibrium to hell.

Mentally counting down in his head, Lance checked his auxiliary monitor and his eyes widened. The Galra battleship was no longer safely out of range. It wasn't moving towards them exactly—it was moving to the edge of the atmosphere, where several small shuttles were burning for it. But that course had naturally put it much closer to them. And they were about to generate a hell of an energy spike.

"Shit…"

That was all he had time for before the ship bucked wildly, and he cursed more as he fought to keep it from spiraling out of control. And right as he got them leveled out again, two small radar contacts detached from the battleship.

"Um… Flynn."

"What's wrong?"

"I think we might have been spotted."

There was a brief silence as the engineers brought the correct scans up. Then, "Faex."

Lance was seeing the same thing. The two signatures were Galra fighters, heading straight for them. "Yep. Spotted."

"Alliance vessel." The voice from the earlier transmission crackled over the comms. "You were warned. Leave the system now or be destroyed."

"…Hunk, point defense." Flynn ran for the bridge, which only took a minute; sometimes the _Firecrown_ being such a small ship did have advantages. "Lance, we can't jump for at least another twelve hours. Tell me you can outfly those…" He trailed off as the fighters came onto visual scans. They were beautiful… and looked every bit as deadly as their battleship.

"I can outfly anything," Lance scoffed, but he was eyeing the fighters warily. The Endeavor-class had certain limits. He'd pushed the _Firecrown_ to the very edge of those limits a few times already this mission, but this was a whole new level.

Flynn took a long breath. They _had_ been warned, when the battleship could clearly swat them out of the sky with minimal effort. That didn't seem to line up with what Lance had told him, but… he reached for the comms panel.

"You wanna chat?" the pilot muttered disapprovingly. He was already pulling them back from the approaching fighters, keeping up constant movement without being predictable.

"They're starting with talk," he pointed out, and keyed up the frequency. For a moment he considered calling them out as the Galra, but identifying them might make things worse—they blew up their own ships to avoid capture, they clearly liked their secrecy. "Whoever you are, we aren't going to bother you. We're just doing some emergency repairs. We'll go anywhere you like in-system to get out of your way, but we can't leave until the repairs are done."

"Huh, the truth," Lance murmured. "Ballsy."

The Galra was less impressed. "That is not our concern. Remove yourselves from the system or we will remove you."

"It was worth a try," Flynn sighed, keeping his voice down as he looked at Lance. "Anything you want to say before I close this?"

"Nothing good."

"That's not what I asked."

Lance looked up at him, and received a grim nod. Why not? They were about to either do something spectacular or be spectacularly dead, no sense being tactful now. "Every one of you fucking dicks deserves a fucking crispy death," he spat.

Almost immediately, the fighters accelerated into an attack pattern. Excellent.

"You really have a way with words. Get us the hell out of here."

"I'm fucking eloquent," Lance agreed, narrowing his eyes and pushing the throttles as high as they'd go.

"I'm going back to the bay. I'll get you everything I can out of the engines."

"Shhh. Focusing." The fighters weren't attempting any evasion or subtlety. They knew this wasn't a battle, but an execution. Typical Galra. But he wasn't going to give them the damn pleasure.

_Come on_. His tongue flicked between his lips in concentration as he brought up the system scans. _What can I use?_

Hunk was watching the fighters just as intently, point defenses at the ready. He'd heard the whole comms exchange, and once again was reminded that not fifteen minutes ago the pit boss had been calling himself the sane one.

Now he came tearing back into the bay, taking the main console and rerouting every shred of power the ship could give. The lights dimmed and then winked out entirely, leaving only the eerie red emergency lighting as the howl of the engines picked up.

If Hunk hadn't known better, he'd have said the fighters were surprised by the speed they were managing. Or at least they pulled up short as the _Firecrown_ shot forward, widening the gap.

Or maybe, he mused as alarms rang out, they were just firing their missiles. That worked too.

It took several hits from the point defenses to bring the missiles down; they very nearly made it through. "Those things are no _joke_."

"Did you expect them to be?" Flynn asked.

"Point."

The fighters were closing in again. But finally Lance had found what he was looking for. "How do you two feel about asteroid belts?"

"Depends, do they match the asteroid shoes?"

Flynn glared at Hunk through the darkness. "That's not what it depends on _at all!"_

Lance snorted. "I'm going to barrel into one, unless you'd rather I keep flying around while they catch up."

Of course he was. When in doubt, asteroid fields. Somehow, Flynn was pretty sure the fighters could handle asteroids just as well as the _Firecrown_ could, but… _They gave us a chance to leave. How committed are they really to pursuing us, even if Lance did say they deserve a fucking crispy death?_

This was no time for overthinking things. It had to be better than being in the open. "Do it." He turned to Hunk. "Drop the shields, reroute to engines." Having an energy field projected around the ship would be actively detrimental to weaving through giant rocks.

"Doing it." Lance wrenched the ship around ninety degrees, smirking as the surprised fighters shot right past them, and barely even slowed as they barreled into the asteroid field. Tiny bits of dust and pebbles immediately started bombarding the ship, bouncing off the thick hull. It was loud and disconcerting, but he quickly tuned it out. No danger.

Larger chunks of rock were more dangerous. Every so often, the point defense turrets would flash, a stream of tracer rounds redirecting boulder-sized chunks away from them. Anything bigger than that was his job to deal with.

Hell yeah, he'd deal with it.

Everything else around him seemed to fade a bit. It was just him and the ship and the rocks. He fell nearly into a rhythm, skimming the surface of a particularly large asteroid, sneaking between two others, taking them deeper and deeper into the field.

"They aren't following us," Flynn reported. "They didn't even try." He sounded less pleased with that than he could've. Lance didn't blame him; he felt uneasy with the news, the slightest chill trickling down his spine. It was _too_ easy. Something wasn't right…

"Energy spike from the battleship," Hunk called out. A few seconds later, dozens of energy beams erupted from the huge ship, melting several larger asteroids to slag in their wake.

"Holy _shit_." Lance sped up. Which was probably crazy, but they were way past crazy at this point.

Hunk and Flynn exchanged shocked looks. "Uh, pit boss? You sure about that shield dropping thing?"

_Psychologically?_ Flynn swallowed hard, but shook his head. They were in this deep now… their lives were already depending on the course they'd committed to. "Keep them down. Won't save us if one of _those_ hits us."

The battleship fired another volley. It didn't seem like they were really even aiming, just counting on the combination of asteroids and energy to take them out one way or another. Reasonable tactics, given the firing delay of weapons clearly meant for targeting other battleships. But if they did get lucky, there would be no dodging… and no surviving it. The Galra weapons were boring red-hot holes straight through the larger asteroids. All Lance could do was maintain speed and hope they got out of range, but the beams were hitting rocks well in front of them.

This wasn't good…

"…Bro, just how small a needle can you thread, exactly?"

For a moment he didn't answer, preoccupied by sneaking in between two large rocks sent drifting towards each other by the fire. They crashed into each other seconds after the _Firecrown_ shot through. "How small do I need to thread?"

"Those holes they're blastin' in the asteroids."

Lance's eyes widened. Those holes were a hell of a needle to thread. But… doable. Definitely doable. He nodded slowly. "You saying what I hope you're saying?"

"All that melted rock'll cover our heat signature easy." Hunk paused. "Also melt our hull if we don't put our shields back up though, and that'll slow us down."

"That's not all bad," Flynn countered. "If we don't make it out as fast as they'd be expecting, it'll only help our case." He was eyeing Hunk sharply, but also nodding in appreciation. _'Just an idiot who's handy with bombs' strikes again…_ "Who isn't insane around here, right?"

Shit, it was crazy. It was completely crazy. But Lance grinned. There was one thing that could offset the crazy; five words that were rapidly going from a purgatory sentence to a rallying cry. "We're a fucking Explorer Team!"

"Damn right we are." Flynn couldn't see Lance, but he could imagine the grin. He was grinning too. "Do it."

As the Galra ship fired again, Lance whirled them towards the largest asteroid with a new, glowing hole through its far end. "Damn, that's a fucking small needle."

"Gonna wait 'til the last second to put the shields up. Rock this thing, bro!"

Now or never. He lined up with the glowing tunnel of stone and nodded to himself. "Punching it… now!"

"Shields up!"

"Got 'em!"

Alarms started screaming instantly, a wave of heat enveloping them as they entered the hole. A second later the shields fully engaged and the temperature dropped. The alarms didn't stop—so far as the ship knew, something was still trying to cook them alive. But Lance tuned the noise out as best he could. The shields coming up had slowed them dramatically, and he compensated with a light touch as they plunged deeper into the stone.

He was also reciting a low litany of _fucks_ as he flew, but by now he didn't even notice he was doing it. They were blind to everything but red-hot space rock, and a pinpoint of darkness growing larger and larger before them.

After a solid two minutes, the _Firecrown_ emerged from the asteroid to find only silence.

"It fucking worked?" Lance asked, checking his scans. There was no sign of the Galra ship anywhere.

"I, uh… I think it did, bro." For the person who'd come up with the plan, Hunk sounded pretty shocked himself.

"Cevete…" Flynn sank forward, leaning heavily on the console. "That… was _amazing_ , Lance."

"Holy shit." He finally let himself exhale. "That was awesome!" Turning, he started to guide the ship back into open space; now that they weren't being shot at, the maneuvering was really a lot of fun. "Flying in an asteroid field, can tick that off the bucket list."

"We don't suffer from insanity," Hunk declared, "we enjoy every minute of it!"

"Hell yeah."

Flynn took another moment to breathe, then straightened. "Alright. Let's get back to the landing site. May as well be waiting when the others get back from undoubtedly having _much_ less fun than we did."

"No way they can beat that," Lance agreed.

Hunk chuckled. "We can't have peaked as an Explorer Team already, can we?"

"Nah, I'm sure the chances for insanity are endless."

Flynn tried for the most unamused tone he could; it didn't really work. "Next thing that goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming both of you."

"Like you aren't just as crazy."

"We discussed this. I'm the sane one. …It's a relative term."

"Uh huh. Suuuure, pit boss."

"Sure it is, its distant cousin."

Smirking, Flynn started setting the _Firecrown_ 's system parameters back to normal. As he reached the weapons he hesitated, looking over at their explosives expert. "So, how serious were you about making missiles? Because we're about to be Galra-free on the ground."

Grin. "Gimme some spare armor, a little jet fuel, and a lot of space, and you'll have missiles."

"Then I think you'd better do it. Just to keep our options open." He paused. "And Hunk… nice job, insane genius."

He was pretty sure the big man actually blushed.

*****

Kithran was probably hell. Or at least if not hell, a remarkably similar temperature.

They'd been walking for slightly over an hour. Not ideal, but it wasn't as though they'd had a choice—even without dodging the Galra, the rocky ledge they'd used as a landing site would have been the closest the _Firecrown_ could get them. Not that landing on sand was a problem… but doing a takeoff roll from it certainly would have been. So here they were. At least the wind was at their backs, for all the good that did them.

Keith adjusted his sunglasses for what had to be the hundredth time; they kept slipping down his nose from the sweat. Sven had tried to give up on his long ago, but the searing brightness of the sand had made him regret the attempt in short order. Even Jace, who wasn't wearing sunglasses at all—he wasn't bothered by sun, Prox had _three_ —was hot and tired and grumpier than usual.

"Dune, dune, bigger dune, dune…" Scowl. "Can I give the others some shots of questionable necessity when we get back?"

Sven paused and wiped some sweat off his forehead, turning to give the medic his habitual annoyed look. Then he realized he really wanted to say yes, and went back to walking instead.

Deciding it was better to just ignore that, Keith paused and scanned the horizon. A particularly large dune was looming ahead of them, just a little further north. "We're close."

"Oh good. Biggest dune."

"When we get to the top, we're going to need to keep low. If the Galra are down there we don't want to be seen."

"Yes sir."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

This time Sven did give Jace that annoyed look. So did Keith. "Get climbing." He started up the dune, then looked back to their medic again. "And it's _Commander_ Obvious, Doctor Smartass."

A stunned look crossed Jace's face for a moment, then he smirked. "I'll keep that in mind, boss."

As they neared the crest of the dune Keith dropped to a crawl, the other two following his lead. He was the first to peek over the top, and what he saw made him freeze in the desert heat.

"…So," Jace whispered, coming up next to him, "giant stretch of red sand marks the spot?"

The other side of the dune dropped steeply, and where it met the ground the golden sand abruptly gave way to deep crimson. In the distance, the dune they were on looped around, like a barrier of normal sand put there to contain the great swath of red.

It would have been a remarkable sight even if it _weren't_ for the dozens of Galra milling about.

"Damn, there's a lot of them."

"Yes," Sven agreed, crouching at his other side. "Yes there are."

Keith pulled his scouting binoculars out of his pack, flipping the recording switch and scanning the area. "There have to be… at least thirty that I can see. They're nearly all armed." In fact, he suspected they all were, but couldn't be certain. Some were taking samples of sand, while others were pacing the area with devices that vaguely resembled metal detectors and other devices he didn't recognize at all. Far in the distance, several small shuttles were gathered in a defensive formation.

"What do you want us to do?"

Excellent question. He took about half a minute more footage with the binoculars, then lowered them and looked around. Opposite them, where the dune hooked around, it was also much lower. "Looks like going over there might get us closer to take a better look. Let's move along the ridge, see if we can find something more."

Reaching the other side took another ten minutes. Several times one of them would pop up just long enough to make sure no Galra were coming over the ridge, then sneak back down below the horizon. If the Galra were watching the tops of the dunes it wasn't evident, anyway. Even the heaviest-armed ones were often being called over to help their companions dig through the sand.

As they circled, the side of the ridge they were on changed from the sloping sands of the southern face to the steep drop of the northern slip. And north of that was… more red. The dune wasn't containing the red sand at all, more like it had somehow been dropped on top of it. It was bizarre.

Judging that they'd gone far enough, Keith looked over the ridge again. "I think this is better."

"We should go further." Jace pointed. "Right down there, we'd have the sun at our backs."

That sounded attractive for more than one reason. Keith looked and nodded. "Okay, start moving there… slowly." Moving on the slip side was trickier, but they reached the new spot without incident. "Get comfortable, we might be here for awhile."

The other two settled in, watching silently. From here, the slip side of the larger part of the dune was fully visible, and they could see what appeared to be a wall of greenish stone underlying the sand. That only seemed to raise more questions about the terrain, but right now their focus had to be on the Galra.

Not that the Galra were doing anything all that interesting. Keith wondered how much footage of them digging in the sand Command really needed.

"Did we know they're… purple and furry?" Jace asked quietly.

"I was aware."

Snort. "Of course you were."

"Yes, I actually prepared for the mission." Sven was bitter about the heat—he was from Norway, for heaven's sake—and it was rapidly making him bitter about everything else. "Crazy, I know."

"You know what kind of spoons they use, too?"

"Spoons?" Keith had just been listening to them banter up until that point, but spoons? "…I don't want to know, do I?"

_Knew I shouldn't have told him about the etiquette classes._ He glared at the medic behind Keith's back. "I'm not telling you things anymore."

Grin. "Oh, sure you will."

He just glared more… not least because he knew it was true.

Okay, that was enough of that. Keith broke it up. "We honestly don't know much about the Galra, other than what a few survivors of their raids have told intel. Of course," he thought of the pirates and scowled himself, "we all know how good intel is these days…"

That drew answering grumbles, and they went back to watching silently for another stretch, which was as uninteresting as the rest had been. Or was until four Galra emerged from a gaping hole in the exposed stone.

"Damn, how many of them are really here?" Keith frowned. "Doesn't look like they're finding anything of value, though."

Nearly the moment he finished speaking, one of the Galra from the cave turned and pointed in their general direction.

"That's not good…"

"Oh, shit. We might have to—"

Jace had reflexively ducked the instant the Galra had pointed; now he reached up and grabbed the other two by the collars, yanking them back down behind the ridge. "Less talking, more ducking!" Someone really should have trained these deep space tin can jockeys in infantry tactics, or at least basic self preservation.

Sven tumbled down beside him, while Keith toppled straight over and ended up on his back. He growled under his breath, trying to extricate himself without breaking anything. "I know you love your patients, but this is a bit too close, Doc…"

"Boss, let me cordially and respectfully advise you to go fuck yourself."

At this point Keith was pretty certain that was a term of endearment, so he just rolled his eyes. "Watch your language, Gregory."

"I _am_ watching my fucking language!"

"This really is him watching his language," Sven agreed. "It can be so, so much worse."

Jace flashed him a thumbs-up of gratitude.

"Right…" Keith arched a disbelieving eyebrow at both of them, then looked around. There was some kind of gap a bit further down the ridge, maybe another cave? He couldn't tell for sure. "Let's get down there under cover before they come up here looking for us."

The shelter turned out to be some kind of sand-covered outcropping, further proof that this dune was not really a proper dune. Sven almost immediately gave a sigh of relief; he'd take the risk of a shootout with the Galra to finally get in some shade. They crouched beneath it, weapons drawn, watching the part of the ridge they'd vacated… and watching… and watching. Finally Keith picked up the binoculars and braved another look over the edge.

The Galra weren't coming for them. In fact, they were going.

"They're… leaving?" He flipped on the recording again, watching the Galra file back to their shuttles. "I wonder if they found anything."

Sven poked his head out of the shade to take a look; their leaving was even more of a relief. "I don't know, it doesn't look like it. But who knows?"

"Well, once they take off and are out of sight, we can head down and take a look around."

"And until then would you two get back here?" Jace snapped. "You know, so the furry purple aliens with air superiority don't see us while they're lifting off?" As the other two ducked back into the shelter, he turned away and studied the stone a bit. The ground was the same greenish stone they'd seen before, but the part of the outcropping that rose up over them was something else again… lighter and very smooth when he touched it. "Weird-ass geography," he muttered to himself.

"Geology. Different stones…"

He rolled his eyes. "Geowhatthefuckevery."

"It's fascinating," Sven said as he ran a hand along the rock. It felt like there was a grain to it, making the smooth stone almost silky.

"Well, you can take a sample with us," Keith suggested.

"Gladly. I'll grab some of the red sand as well."

They heard a dull roar in the distance, the engines of the Galra shuttles as they launched. None of them dared peek out to watch the mysterious aliens leave, but as the roar faded, Keith raised his binoculars to the bright sky and watched the last pinpoints of light vanish.

"Okay. I think we're good. Get your rock sample and let's go look around."

"Yes sir." The stone chipped easily beneath his knife blade, surprisingly so. He stashed a few samples in his pack before reluctantly leaving the shade to join the other two. Keith was already moving down the dune, his rifle at the ready just in case.

The sand shifted beneath him, and as he dropped to his backside and tumbled head over heels to the base of the dune. He at least managed to let go of his rifle before his arms hit the sand, though he was rewarded for that care by being smacked in the face with the barrel several times as it whipped around on its sling. The binoculars got him a couple of times too. He could only assume it was a miracle when he made it to the bottom without a broken nose.

Sven stepped forward cautiously, watching Keith fall and doing his best to suppress a smile. _Don't laugh, don't laugh…_

"And there goes the paragon of propriety and grace," Jace said casually. "On his ass."

So much for not laughing. "We should probably go check on him, make sure he didn't hurt himself. Mainly you, though. You are the doctor."

"I'm so glad _someone_ around here acknowledges that, goddamn." He walked up to where Keith had lost his footing, dropped into a crouch, and easily surfed the dune to the bottom. He probably should have been above such petty theatrics, but… nah, he shouldn't have been.

Keith groaned and sat up, shaking sand out of his hair, though there was plenty left… in his hair, in his pack, all over his clothes… "Watch your step," he warned wryly as Sven picked his way down the dune.

Sven looked concerned. "Are you alright?"

"You okay?" Jace asked at the same time, offering a hand.

Keith took it, standing and shaking the sand off his pack. "Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing bruised but my ego." He tried to brush more sand off his clothes, though it was pretty much a lost cause. "Guess Garrett is getting his sand…"

"Oh yeah, giant donut dude's gonna get _plenty_ of sand," Jace smirked. He pulled a bag from his own pack and filled it with the golden sand from the dune, as Sven did the same with the red sand.

"Okay. Let's get to looking around."

"…Just looks like a lot of red to me."

He wasn't wrong. Keith frowned, looking around, seeing nothing but red desert and the rough stone underlying the dune. "Yeah. It doesn't seem natural, does it?"

"It's definitely odd," Sven agreed.

There didn't seem like much to be done other than starting out into the sand. Maybe they could see what the Galra had been doing. Keith knelt and inspected one of the holes a ways in, lifting his sunglasses to see better… it looked like there was normal sand beneath the red.

"Isn't that where they came out of earlier?"

Keith looked up. Jace was pointing to the gaping hole in the slip side of the dune, just coming into view from the ground. He paused, shading his eyes with his hand and squinting. From here, it was evident that not only was there a cave… the rough stone beneath the cave was stained the same red as the sand. "Looks like about the spot," he agreed, heading for it.

Sven and Jace followed silently, exchanging looks. It was eerily quiet now that they'd stopped talking. Nothing but the faint rush of the wind, the skittering of sand driven by the breeze… neither of them was about to admit to having a bad feeling about this. But they both certainly did.

The cave entrance was at least ten feet above the ground; it would be easy enough to access from above, but not so much from below. Keith was studying the transition from green stone to normal sand to red. It just wasn't right, somehow…

Preoccupied with the cave entrance, Jace neglected to watch where he was going, and immediately tripped over something. "Fuck." He bent over and picked it up; a piece of bright red metal sitting by a small hole, apparently dug up by the Galra but discarded.

Sven looked over at him. "What is it?"

"Some… weird metal that's just as red as the sand?"

That got Keith's attention. "Weird metal? Can I see it?" Jace shrugged and handed it over, and he studied it carefully. It didn't cause the same odd tingling feeling the other piece had, but it felt otherwise identical, even the edge.

"Anything you recognize?"

"This is like the metal fragment I found on Terina. Different color, but Hunk said he'd never seen metal break like that, and this seems to have broken a similar way…" He handed it to Sven, who was looking at it curiously. "Take it back to the ship. We'll have Hunk scan it, see if it matches that other piece."

Sven looked over the metal, running a finger along the edge, then put it in his pack. "Yes sir."

As they talked Jace had turned his attention to the hole again. Or more to the point, the red streak flowing down from it. "This looks like some kind of… dried up red waterfall or something. Maybe there was a lake here? Could've colored the metal along with everything else?"

A lake? Keith frowned. It wasn't a bad theory, except for there being absolutely no other evidence Kithran had ever had a water cycle. "Maybe."

"Possible."

Jace just shrugged. It had sounded good to him, but geowhatthefuckevery wasn't his strong point. "So now what?"

"I'd like to try to get in there." Keith looked up at the hole. "But it's too high and we don't have the right gear for it. Let's follow this dune around, see if there are any other openings."

"Sounds good."

"Works for me."

They followed the dune in silence, until reaching the very end and circling to the slip side. There was a large gap undercutting the stone, and some odd rock formations visible beneath it. That looked promising.

And strange.

"I've never seen stalagmites like that before," Keith murmured. They were huge and smooth, almost gleaming in the dim light that reached them. "And the stalactites… not right above them? That's not how it works."

"They're very… orderly?" Jace stepped back. The formations seemed to alternate cleanly, forming two rings that roughly paralleled the entrance. "And weird."

As Keith and Sven moved forward into the shade, Jace stepped back to get a better overall view. All it really got him was confirmation that yes, those stalactites and stalagmites were very orderly, very weird, and—as he took another step back, a blinding flash of light from somewhere above the entrance seared into his eyes. "Fuck!"

"Doc? You okay?"

"Yeah, I just…" He blinked back afterimages, then tried shielding his eyes and squinting. The blinding glare hit him again, every bit as painful as before. Maybe he should've brought some damn sunglasses after all. He started circling around to try to get a different angle. "There's something… really shiny up there."

The other two approached, turning to try to see whatever he'd seen. For a few moments there was nothing. But as they stepped back a little further, the shiny object abruptly flashed into view. It was some kind of huge glassy orb, set further back into the exposed stone.

Jace had circled around far enough to escape the horrible angle of the sunlight; the orb was covered with sand from where he was standing, but he could still make out its form. It made the cave's outcropping look an awful lot like…

It hit him and Keith at pretty much the same moment.

"What the hell?"

"Porra…"

The boss looked at him. "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"I'm not thinking a fucking thing right now, boss." He took another step back. "I'm trying really hard not to think a fucking—"

"…Shit," Sven butted in, having stepped back far enough to see what the others were seeing. "That… is an _eye?"_

Jace glowered at him. "Oh sure, or you can be like that about it. Fuck."

"It's some sort of… huge monster," Keith whispered in disbelief, looking back at the 'cave' entrance… and what were now all too obviously two rows of vicious teeth.

"A dead one." Sven paused, then paled as he looked around at the red sand. "Does that mean… this is…" _We're standing in a giant lake of dried blood._ "Ew." For the second time in as many ground missions, he suddenly desperately wanted a shower.

Keith looked between him and Jace, then at the sand. "Holy shit. That hole." Everything was coming together. "What the hell is this creature… and what could put a hole into something like this and kill it?"

"And which are the Galra looking for?" Jace asked quietly. "This thing, or the thing that killed it? Because I'm pretty damn sure they don't need either one."

"No. No they don't."

Keith lifted the binoculars, thoroughly recording the sight, from the gaping maw to the fatal wound in the distance. Then he looked back at the other two and swallowed hard, dialing for confidence. "Well, I think… we don't need to go in there now—"

"I will _not_ be going in there," Sven interrupted quickly.

"—unless the _medic_ wants to have a look inside the dead creature?"

Jace glared. "Nope. No thanks. I dissected enough weird-ass shit in training."

"All right then. Let's head back."

"Yes sir." Sven turned and started south just as quickly. The heat didn't seem so bad anymore. Marching through it for another two hours would be so much better than staying near this… thing… a second longer.

As he picked up the pace, Jace came up beside him and whispered in a singsong tone. "You said shit, I heard you…"

_Dammit, of course he did._ Sven blushed. "I know, and I apologize. It won't happen again."

"Oh fuck that." The medic clapped him on the shoulder and mimed wiping away a tear of joy. "I was so proud of you. Don't ruin it."

Sven hung his head, but privately couldn't help feeling good about the praise. And that was worrisome. _This is that peer pressure my mom was always talking about._ "You are a terrible influence."

"Damn straight." Grin. "Come on, pick it up. We've got some assholes waiting around chilling on the ship while we were climbing around on a giant monster, and I'm really looking forward to bitching them out."

Of course he was. Sven knew he should probably roll his eyes at that, but all he could do was nod and laugh.

*****

After receiving a message from Keith that the ground team was on its way back, Flynn and Lance had done the only logical thing: they'd set up camp on the Firecrown's entry ramp, sipping beer and watching the sand.

There was a _lot_ of sand.

Hunk was about a hundred yards away with some scrap armor, jet fuel, and quite a few other assorted parts that he hadn't mentioned before. Flynn had offered to help him and been brushed off. But every few minutes he looked over to see half a dozen new missiles gradually taking shape.

"He's unbelievable," he said quietly, shaking his head.

Lance looked up, grinning. "I'll take it." He took a long swig of his beer, then squinted out at the desert. "Hey, I think I see them."

Sure enough. Their three crewmates were trudging back to the ship in what was visible even from a distance as varying degrees of surliness.

"Beer? Seriously?" Jace yelled almost immediately. "You assholes have been literally having a picnic while we—"

"Hey we earned it, we had to dodge Galra in a fucking asteroid field while you—"

"—were out there climbing around on some fucking mile-long monster corpse—"

"—were just out here playing around in the sand—"

"—wait, you _what?"_

"—wait, you _what?"_

Keith looked between the pilot and medic for a moment, then arched an eyebrow at Flynn. "Kleid?"

"Not one _word_ , Kogane." Flynn tossed a can of beer to him, or maybe at him, it was hard to say. "You could've stayed here and had better ideas."

Keith caught the beer and sighed. Clearly they were going to have an interesting debriefing session. "Where's Garrett?"

Flynn pointed. Hunk was actually trudging back now, carrying two of his homemade missiles over his shoulders. "Ain't as fancy as the real thing," he said cheerfully, "but they'll fly straight and blow up big, and that's what matters, right?"

_Wow_. "Right. Get those loaded and let's get in the air. Seems we've all got some stories to tell."

*****

Mendar was one of the castle footmen. The very best, according to Nanny. That endorsement meant Larmina immediately disliked him, even when she hadn't met him yet. Meeting him didn't change much. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with perfectly-styled dark hair and a dazzling smile; even her glaring as he introduced himself didn't seem to faze him.

"Warmest greetings, Lady Larmina." He flashed that smile again as he rose from his bow; his teeth were unnaturally white. "My name is Mendar, and I am at your service."

"Okay. Well, you already know who I am, so—"

"—Lady Larmina!"

_How does she_ do _that?_ Nanny seemed to be able to detect an etiquette violation from anywhere in the castle, and appear before the rules were even finished being violated. Or maybe she'd been hiding in a corner of the ballroom to see how long it took for things to go badly. "I know, I know." She turned to Mendar and curtsied, which made the frilly purple skirt she was wearing billow dramatically. "Good morning, Mendar. I am Lady Larmina of the Seven Isles, and I hope you're happier to be here than I—"

Nanny made a noise that was not unlike a rampaging plainsbeast.

"—I mean, I am honored to accept your service."

"Very good," said Nanny in a tone that said it hadn't been good at all. "Now, Lady Larmina, I have spoken to your instructors from your finishing schools… _both of them_ ," she added with a scowl. "They both spoke highly of your dancing."

_Did they really? Must be the only thing they spoke highly of._ Though it didn't surprise her that much. She had enjoyed dancing more than anything else there—it was kind of like heavily choreographed musical sparring. And she did love music, though formal ball music barely counted as such. "Okay, and?"

"For a debut ball there are very particular dances you must learn. I expect you to do much better at this than you are doing in your other lessons." The governess waved Mendar forward. "Now, we will begin with the Aria Taheu."

Larmina looked at Mendar, who offered his hand graciously. She grudgingly took it—and much more grudgingly resisted the urge to yank him over and kick him right in the too-shiny teeth. Not because she was afraid of Nanny, obviously. But nobody could really be as unflappable as this guy was acting; if she hit him he might decide to hit her back.

Then she'd be obliged to mop the floor with him.

Then she really _would_ be in trouble.

"I'll follow your lead, then?"

"It will be my honor, Lady Larmina." He put a hand on her shoulder and took a step back, but she didn't follow. "Is something wrong?"

_More than you think_. But yes, something was wrong with the dancing, too. "We're not seriously going to do this without music, are we?" She turned to Nanny and gave her best impression of the governess' disapproving scowl. "There's no dance without rhythm, where's our beat?"

She actually looked momentarily flustered—in a _that's actually a good point_ way, not the usual _what did this finishing school dropout just say to me_ way. It faded quickly. "This is only the first lesson, it's best if you focus on—"

"—Nope! Not how it works. But no problem, if you didn't bring music, I've got some." She pulled her digipad out of a pocket in the frilly skirt and grinned wickedly at Mendar. "Hope you can keep up with my rock star moves!"

His irritating grin suddenly became a bit more genuine. "I'll accept that challenge."

_Huh. Maybe he's not so bad after all…_

Nanny opened her mouth to say something Larmina was certain she didn't care to hear, but she was preempted by an epic guitar riff as Easy Chair Infidel began blasting through the ballroom. "Now this is more like it!" She grinned, grabbed Mendar's hand, and half dragged him into one of the ballroom dances she'd learned in the Seven Isles. Maybe about three times faster than it was supposed to be, but her dance partner was keeping up!

Somewhere in the middle of the song, Nanny walked away, grumbling under her breath about hopeless royal bastard cases.

Larmina was pretty sure that meant she'd won this round.


	11. Test of Metal

The _Firecrown_ was taking its exit from the Kithran system slowly, giving the breach drive time to charge. Keith had announced that he and Hunk were going to have a look at the new metal scrap, and anyone else who was interested could join them. Without much else to do in the meantime, everyone had expressed interest. Why not?

Hunk was in the cargo bay early, organizing the new inventory and sulking slightly. They'd left the planet too fast for sand castles. Not that it really would've gone well, the sand being bone-dry and all, but what kind of message would it send if he _didn't_ sulk about it? He might accidentally look like a responsible adult.

He didn't look up when the hatch hissed open ahead of schedule. "Hey, boss."

"Not quite."

He blinked. Okay, _that_ was worth looking up. "Oh hey, bro." Jace was standing in the doorway holding a pair of scouting binoculars. "You didn't call me dumbass, you okay? Heat get to ya?"

Snort. "I'm the medic here, I'll do the medic-ing. You're an engineer, I was hoping you could do some engineering." He tossed him the binoculars; Hunk caught them and arched an eyebrow. "Can you pull some footage from these? Might've been deleted."

That seemed like an odd request. Those were always the most fun, though this wasn't his specialty. "I can try. You'd be better off goin' to the pit boss for hacker stuff though."

"Yeah, maybe, but I don't have anything to bribe him with, and I do have a big bag of sand for you. We got a deal?"

Wait, he what? Now Hunk was really suspicious. But on the other hand, sand. Could he really pass up the opportunity to build a sand _Firecrown_ and leave it in the conference room? Of course he couldn't. "Whatcha need pulled?"

Grin. "The boss totally faceplanted down a dune while we were scouting, and it'd just be a shame to deprive the rest of you of the footage. Don't you think?"

…Aha. Hunk grinned back. "You got a deal, bro. I'll take care of it after we  
check out this metal, yeah?"

"Perfect." Before he could say anything else, the door hissed open again. Hunk stashed the binoculars in a pocket as the rest of the team arrived. First things first.

"So, metal?" Lance asked as he sauntered into the bay, just ahead of the others. They spread out around the scanner, beside a few crates.

Hunk grinned. "Totally metal, bro." Lance smirked in response, then both their grins faded as the big man pointed to one of the crates. "The metal pieces are up on that box. Someone pass me the black one first?"

Keith turned and picked up the black piece of metal. He visibly shivered as he did, feeling the same electric tingles as when he'd first touched it, turning and quickly handing it to Hunk. _So weird…_

As Keith retrieved the black metal, Lance looked at the other piece on the box and blinked. It was _red_. Bright freaking fire engine red. They'd get to that, he supposed… he turned back to the others, glancing around at them for a moment. Sven was standing towards the back of the group, watching quietly, with Jace scowling next to him; Flynn was giving Keith a curious look. Keith noticed and shrugged before returning his attention to Hunk and the scanner.

"Thanks, boss. See?" Hunk put the metal under the scanner, starting it up and motioning for the others to look at the display. "No energy signature. Like it ain't even there. That or it's absolute zero, which… Doc, just for kicks, you wanna tell us about touching stuff that's absolute zero?"

"Uh, you fucking don't," Jace snorted, and Hunk gave him a thumbs-up.

Lance looked at the metal. "The fuck…" Sven eyed him and Jace, but knew the point in giving either of them a disapproving look for the language was also absolute zero.

Flynn leaned over Lance's shoulder, eyes flickering over the readings. "That isn't possible."

"Ain't stoppin' it," Hunk said, handing him the metal. "Have a look."

Flynn took the metal and looked it over, immediately transfixed. It was like nothing he’d ever seen… he ran a finger along the sheared edge and tried to remind himself this wasn’t their job. They were only here to search. But how could they be expected to collect things like this without wondering what it all meant? He traced his fingers over every inch of the metal, taking in the feel of it and trying to grasp why it felt so _alien_.

"Should we leave you two alone?" Lance asked with a smirk. Not even Keith could fully hide a snicker.

"Oh sure," Flynn retorted with a mild glower. "Like you didn't do the same thing to the piloting controls."

"Yeah, you got me there." He didn't sound the least bit chastised.

Hunk chuckled, then stood up to retrieve the red piece and set it under the scanner. "Usually you'd expect to get at least slightly different readings off this one. Cuz, y'know… red. Anyone wanna make a bet?

"Absolute zero?" Lance offered.

Grin. "That's my bet too."

"Well, we did find it in that… dried bed of blood," Keith pointed out.

Jace grimaced. "You mean the creepy-ass dried up pool of giant monster blood." Beside him, Sven shivered.

"Nasty."

"This is all fucking weird." Lance shook his head and fell silent, watching the black metal gleam in Flynn's hands before looking back to the red.

Hunk started the scan, eyes narrowed in concentration. If there was blood, it should at least show up as something on the surface, even if the metal itself didn't show anything. But all he got was another sad beep of failure. "Nothin'. Again." He frowned deeper at the piece, then scratched it with a fingernail. All he felt was smooth metal. "This ain't blood."

"No?"

"It's not stained?"

"I don't think so." He shook his head. "Wish we had a composition scanner. But it oughta chip or at least feel different if it's solid blood that just got caked on, and it wouldn't be so even if it were stained. Like the floor of the conference room, yeah?"

"Oh, good." Jace snorted. "For a minute there I was afraid this would all make too fucking much sense." Keith gave him a _look._ Not that it accomplished anything, but someone had to do it, Sven was too busy looking surprised.

Flynn ignored Jace's outburst, which was probably the smartest option. "He's right." He set the black piece down reluctantly. "You think this is what the Galra are searching for?"

Keith nodded slowly. "I'm starting to think that, Kleid."

"If it is, they suck at it," Jace pointed out. "That red piece was just sitting by one of the holes they dug, like they threw it aside."

Flynn's eyes were locked on the red piece. _No metal is like that_. Mentally he was going over his old Academy overview of xenotech alloys, trying to remember anything similar, finding nothing. Next to him, Lance moved up and touched the metal; he startled immediately.

"Lance?"

"You okay, bro?"

"Yeah, just, you didn't say anything about it being warm, I didn't…" He trailed off. Hunk and Keith were both looking sharply at him, and he didn't really like the looks.

"Warm?" Hunk repeated. It had seemed distinctly room temperature to him.

"Yeah." He touched the metal again to be sure. "Definitely warm."

Jace shrugged. It had been plenty warm when he'd picked it up. "It was buried in a _desert_ for who the hell knows how long, why wouldn't it be warm?"

"It's been on the ship for several hours," Keith countered. "It shouldn't still be warm, should it?"

"Well we can't exactly check out its thermodynamics," Hunk muttered, frowning at the scanner. "But it didn't feel warm at all to me."

Sven reached for the metal, running his fingers along the surface. "Feels… not warm." That got enough of Jace's interest for him to touch it as well, and he shook his head. It really wasn't.

"Metal just doesn't work like that," Flynn murmured, taking the red piece and shaking his head too. He handed it back to Lance, who closed his eyes for a moment as the warmth ran through his fingertips.

"You don't feel that… wavering low heat?" The warmth seemed to almost radiate from the metal. _It's almost comforting… it's so fucking weird._

Hunk stood, eyeing Keith, who was shifting uncomfortably. "You gonna tell 'em?" he whispered under his breath.

Sigh. He certainly didn't _want_ to tell them. But at least now he might sound a little bit less insane. "The black piece feels… tingly to me. It's like static electricity when I touch it, but none of the rest of you felt it either, did you? And you saw the scan. There's no charge to it."

"Wait, what?" Lance reluctantly set the red piece down and touched the black one for the first time. "Yeah, I get nothing off the black one."

"That's odd," Sven muttered more or less to himself. He touched the black one too, and shook his head. Nothing.

Keith grimaced. "I thought maybe it was some sort of metal allergy, but if Lance is feeling heat off that one?" He shook his head too. "I don't know what to think now. I didn't feel anything from the red one back on the surface when we found it."

"I know what to think," Lance scoffed. "It's fucking weird!"

"Metal allergy isn't impossible," Jace said thoughtfully, taking the black piece and turning it over in his hands. "I mean, they're obviously not the exact same metal, since one's black and one's bright fucking red…"

"Do you have the equipment to determine if it's an allergy?"

The medic gave Keith a scornful look. "Boss, you know how an allergy test works? You expose skin to what you're testing and if you react, you're allergic." He set the metal down. "Not sure it's my bet, though. A processed substance that affects different people differently is what we'd _usually_ call a tailored bioweapon."

"It's not dangerous," Lance said immediately, drawing several startled looks. He shook his head a little defensively. "It's _not_."

"How could it be that, Doc? I mean…"

"Well it's obviously not tailored for anyone _here_. Giant freaky desert monster might have opinions, though."

"And you found the first fragment on Terina." Flynn looked at Keith. "The ruins had clear signs of battle damage." The commander looked back at him and shivered a little.

"So… some kinda bioweapon metal? That's what we're goin' with? That ain't a lot less weird." Hunk shook his head. "Intel's gonna _love_ this."

"For giant monsters," Lance reminded him. "They'll think we've lost our minds."

"We haven't?" Jace muttered.

Smirk. "Point."

"I haven't lost _my_ mind," Sven protested. A slow, wry smile spread over his face as he looked around at the others. "Yet."

Jace clapped him on the shoulder. "There's still time, Viking."

Keith watched his team, amused, but the amusement faded as his attention returned to the metal. "Whatever this is, it's a hell of a puzzle. I don't like not knowing what we're up against."

" _We_ are up against the Galra," Flynn answered. "Maybe the question is what they're up against."

That wasn't something he even wanted to think about. "They know what they're looking for. We don't. We're already at a disadvantage, and everything we find just raises more questions."

"Maybe it is the metal they're lookin' for?" Hunk suggested. "Maybe they need the black, not the red. Maybe there's other types out there too."

"We can't let them have it."

Everyone looked at Lance, and a few slow nods answered him. A moment later, a shrill alarm echoed through the bay, three staccato bursts giving way to silence.

"What's that?"

"What _now?"_

"Sensor alert." Flynn frowned as the alarm sounded again. "Something's just arrived in-system."

Keith grimaced and turned, heading for the bridge. "Get to battle stations," he ordered just before breaking into a run. _Better not be pirates. Again._

"Fucking typical," Lance grumbled as he and Sven followed.

Hunk quickly packed up the scanner. "Is there a party around here and we missed the invitation?" Some _inhabited_ planets didn't get this much traffic. He returned the metal to its box and raced for the bay after Flynn.

That left Jace alone in the cargo bay, and for a moment he was sorely tempted to stay there. Just on principle. But orders were orders… sighing, he trudged off to his quarters. "I fucking _hate_ my battlestation."

It took less than a minute after the alarm for Keith to reach the bridge. He dropped into the command chair and brought up the sensors.

It wasn't pirates.

It was worse.

"Kuso…" The menacing hook shape of the Galra ship greeted him. It wasn't facing them right now, but he wasn't about to count on that. "McClain, get us the hell out of here."

Lance flung himself into his own seat and grabbed the control rods. "On it, boss." Sven strapped in next to him, checking his monitors and starting to type in calculations.

The comms crackled. "Yo, I _just built_ those missiles, can we maybe not use 'em all up in the same system?"

Well that wasn't going to be a problem. "Kleid, what's the breach drive status?"

"No reserve charge, but we can jump in as soon as we're past those last few asteroids. I'd formally recommend we _do it."_

Keith grinned despite himself. It was always good to be on the same page as one's second. "Holgersson, get us some coordinates."

Sven was way ahead of that order; the coordinates were already transmitted. "Yes sir."

"Any time now, McClain."

With a smirk, Lance punched it. The _Firecrown_ shot free of the last few asteroids, the last few small gravity wells that could disrupt the breach drive. And before the Galra ship could do any more than start to turn, they were gone.

*****

Twenty hours.

Twenty hours of engine operation was how long it took for a Kearney-Fushida BT2750 breach drive to regain a full charge.

Twenty hours in hyperspace was, apparently, how long it took everyone to relax after almost being caught by the Galra… _again_.

Flynn was on shift, though he wasn't necessarily being as diligent as usual. His mind kept wandering to the metal. So many questions. It was fascinating, but not _exactly_ his specialty… still, he couldn't help the distraction. At least, not until a much bigger distraction showed up.

"Yo! Pit boss! C'mon, you're gonna watch a movie with us!"

He jumped, turning towards the hatch and raising an eyebrow. "Do I have any say in this?"

"Nope!"

"You know someone's got to mind the bay, right?"

"Dude, the rec room is literally twenty feet away, the engines'll be fine." Hunk gave a huge grin. "No ain't an option. I've gotta stay here and bother you until you give in. Lance's orders."

"…I outrank Lance!"

"Well, yeah. You gonna order me to leave?"

Flynn sighed, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Of course not." He followed a very smug-looking Hunk to the rec room, where Lance was pulling beer out of the refrigeration locker. "Couldn't come get me yourself, flyboy?"

"I had to get this ready." He turned and grinned, holding two beers out to them. "Rabblerouser?"

"…What now?"

"The beer. Rabblerouser, one of the best there is."

Hunk chuckled, pulling a bottle of his own out of the other locker before accepting the beer Lance was offering. "I brought Jack to this party, but he could always use a friend."

Smirking, Flynn took the other. This was no less than the fifth beer he'd been assured was one of the best. So far they'd all tasted like, well… beer. "I'm surprised you haven't abandoned this yet."

"Hey, I promised you a full education!"

"Yeah, you did." He looked pointedly around the room. "Am I the only one who gets the honor?"

"Yep, just you today. Maybe you're my favorite."

"Hey!" Hunk was pouring something into a large bowl, but took a moment to look over his shoulder and mock pout. "What am I, the scenery?"

"You're already educated! Or so I've been told." Flynn shrugged and dropped onto the most comfortable of the couches—not that that meant much in here. "So what're we watching?"

"One of the most important films of all time," Lance answered, sitting next to him with his own beer and the remote.

"Funny name for a movie."

"Ha ha." Lance eyed him and grinned. "Star Wars! Episode IV, to be precise."

Flynn eyed him back for a moment, then was distracted by Hunk plunking a gigantic bowl of popcorn on the center table. He flopped onto another couch and pulled his datapad and a pair of binoculars out of a pocket, seeming to not see anything odd about what Lance had just said. Resigning himself to being wrong for the first—certainly not the last—time today, he sighed and looked back at Lance himself. "I'm sure I'll regret asking this, but shouldn't we start with number one?"

"No!" Hunk yelled immediately.

_"Hell_ no!" Lance agreed just as vehemently. "Plus it came out after the sixth one… long story but we _do not discuss_ the first three."

That had gone about as well as he'd expected. Flynn looked between the other two and shook his head. "Okay, sure. Movie first, _what the hell are you people talking about_ later."

Hunk smirked. "Best practices, pit boss." He turned his focus to Lance. "Let's rock this thing!"

Lance grinned, getting the movie started and sitting back with a handful of popcorn. "It's the version where he shoots first."

"There were other versions?"

" _Exactly_ , big guy."

Once again, Flynn was sure he'd only regret asking what they were talking about, so he crossed his arms over his knees and watched curiously. The effects were primitive, to put it mildly, but there was something about it… "How old is this movie?" he asked quietly.

"This one's from 1977 Earth. Ancient history, but it's a classic."

Flynn stared at him for a moment, shocked. That really _was_ ancient. "Damn."

"You'll see why." Grin. "Hey, you drinking that beer? What do you think?"

Truthfully he'd forgotten all about the beer—he took a quick gulp at Lance's prompting. "It tastes like beer, it's good, what do you want me to say?"

That got him a disapproving headshake. "Your taste buds need more experience."

Hunk snickered. He was busy working with the binoculars, though he was watching the movie over top of them. Not that it really mattered, he had this whole thing memorized. Really, the footage from Kithran didn't look all that much different from Tatooine, there were just Galra instead of Stormtroopers. "Dude barely even eats real food, bro." At least, not that _he'd_ ever seen. He privately suspected the chief preferred Jace's cooking and just didn't want to admit it.

"We've got our hands full."

Flynn scowled at both of them, then took another sip of beer. "Does the cute little trash can ditch his friend soon? I hope?"

Both of the others burst into laughter. "3PO is _meant_ to be annoying."

"Oh! Good, they did a great job."

"It's why R2 swears more than I do."

"Can't blame him."

As they talked, Hunk noticed Flynn giving him a wary look. Actually, he was used to those looks. The pit boss clearly wasn't comfortable with him, but he never seemed to want to press the issue. Good. It wasn't an issue he wanted pressed. Though right now he mostly seemed curious about the binoculars.

Not only did Flynn keep glancing at him, Lance kept glancing at Flynn. Finally Hunk rolled his eyes, set the binoculars aside, and threw a handful of popcorn at the two of them. "Eat, dudes!"

Lance picked up the popcorn that settled on his jacket and tossed it into his mouth. Flynn threw the pieces that had hit him right back. "I'm trying to watch the movie!"

Maybe he got the message, because he stopped giving Hunk those odd looks after that.

Lance was watching Flynn more than he was watching the movie, both to gauge his reaction and because it certainly wasn't a bad view. Besides, he knew the movie. They were quiet for awhile, just watching the drama unfold, until the chief hit his first stumbling block.

"Oh come on, what the fuck? If he's not smart enough to not hold the _deadly weapon you just handed him_ pointing straight at his eyes, give it to 3PO, he's obviously the brains of this operation!"

Hunk nearly choked on his popcorn.

"So you like it?" Lance asked, once he managed to fight his own laughter down into a smirk.

"It's fascinating."

"I take it that's good then? Not like when people say 'interesting' and it means they don't like it?"

Flynn laughed too. "Easy, flyboy. I like it. I'm not the one who's not even watching!" He glanced over at Hunk again.

Lance really wished he'd stop _doing_ that. "He's seen it."

"Dude! I'm doin' very important mission st—"

"—Oh! _Oh!"_ Lance grabbed Flynn and pushed him closer to the screen, drawing a startled yelp of protest. "It's him! _Han! WATCH."_

Well, if he hadn't already been watching, there wouldn't have been much arguing with that… Flynn arched an eyebrow and watched. It didn't take long to figure out why the flyboy had nearly shoved him off the couch. "Oh, I see. He's your role model."

"Fuck yeah."

"Well his bragging rights are terrible. Parsecs aren't a measure of—"

"—Everyone knows," they both interrupted in unison, and he decided to just stay quiet for a bit.

'A bit' lasted until they got to the ship, and Lance sighed affectionately. "And there she is… the Millennium Falcon. First ship I ever wanted to fly."

Flynn studied the ship with interest. It was aerodynamically ridiculous, but he was getting used to the movie's aesthetic. "Why are they calling her a piece of junk? She's beautiful."

"Finest hunk of junk in the galaxy."

Silence took over the rec room for awhile, except for the audio from the screen. Flynn was still fascinated, though perhaps not by what he was supposed to be fascinated by—he kept trying to imagine how remarkable this all must have seemed over four hundred years ago, and he had a pretty good idea of the answer. He'd completely forgotten about his beer, which didn't stop Lance from standing up to get them each another.

Then came Alderaan, and he suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to watch what was obviously on its way.

"Here it comes," Lance muttered grimly.

"Must it?"

The pilot glanced over at him. "You okay?"

Well he certainly wasn't going to admit some ancient movie was making his skin crawl. "Yeah, I'm—" He was cut off by the Death Star firing, and…

…well, he hadn't expected the _entire planet_ to go up…

"…Faex."

Lance couldn't help a grin. It was fun to see the wonder. He knew it. Growing up in a quiet farming colony, far from 'modern' culture, the relics of ancient Earth-bound humanity had felt so much more familiar… so much more awe-inspiring. "Yeah, big huh?"

"That's a word for it." Flynn was still on edge, but also a bit relieved. Which seemed like a horrible reaction to watching a planet blown up, truthfully. He tried to take a sip of beer, grabbed the unopened bottle, and blushed bright before setting it back down and hoping Lance hadn't noticed.

He noticed. "What?"

"I was expecting it to be something more like…" What the hell? What gift did Lance have that made him want to answer questions like _that_ so easily? He fought it off. "Nothing."

It was obvious Lance wasn't buying it, but Hunk bursting into hysterical laughter interrupted them.

"Hunk."

"Uh, Hunk?"

He just kept laughing.

_"Hunk."_

"Alderaan just blew up, dude."

"It wasn't funny."

"Carrie Fisher will haunt your ass."

Flynn threw a handful of popcorn at him for good measure. That seemed to do it; he caught the popcorn and blinked, biting down a few last giggles. "Oh, uh… sorry, not that. Pause it for a sec, would ya bro?" He held up the binoculars.

Reluctantly, Lance dug the remote out from under some popcorn crumbs and paused the movie. Turning to Hunk, he blinked in confusion. "Why do you have binoculars?" _Has he had them this whole time?_

"Cuz the Doc gave 'em to me. Wanted me to pull some footage. Check this…" He walked up to one of the room's smaller screens, hooking up the binoculars and putting the recovered feed on the screen.

Lance frowned and sat back. He was really a bit miffed about movie night being interrupted… until he saw what came on the screen. Keith Kogane falling on his fine ass and tumbling down a hill, in all its jolting haphazard glory. He doubled over laughing. "That is… that is fucking _gold!"_

Flynn bit his lip hard to keep from laughing. He was an officer, damn it, he had to at least retain _some_ mild semblance of propriety. That effort lasted for a solid ten seconds, but when Hunk replayed the footage he lost it. On the next pass, it only got worse; the big man reversed the footage, and they all got to watch Keith tumble _up_ the hill instead. Which led to him very nearly choking on his beer.

Lance slapped his back. "Breathe, dude."

"I was breathing!" he protested, smacking him back with a mild glare. Though Keith tumbling up the hill again nearly changed that status.

"I need… hahaha… I need a copy!"

Snickering, Hunk unhooked the binoculars, then cleared his throat and dialed for his most businesslike tone. "Copies will be available for distribution by… ah, hell with it. I'm sendin' it to everyone's datapads." Frown. "Except the boss, I guess."

"I'm surprised Jace didn't die choking on sand like Flynn nearly did on his beer."

"More's the pity," the engineer in question muttered. Which was definitely not professional but they were way past that.

"Hey, be nice to the Doc." Hunk finished sending the footage and stashed the binoculars in a pocket. "He brought me sand!"

Lance arched an eyebrow. "He did?"

"Yep. Supposedly." Shrug. "Not sure why he thought he had to bribe me, I'd have done it for the lulz, but…"

"Did you really just say 'for the lulz' out loud?" Flynn demanded, grabbing a handful of popcorn and waving it threateningly.

Not that it was much of a threat. "I sure did! For. The. _Lulz."_

Lance snickered, watching Flynn pelt the big man with popcorn. _Hunk is awesome._ "Can I unpause? We're getting to the good part."

"Go for it." Hunk paused as his datapad beeped. "You got the educatin', bro? I'm gonna go get my sand."

_Awesome… but weird._ "Uh, sure. Enjoy, dude." He watched Hunk go… or more to the point, watched Flynn watching Hunk go eyes narrowed intently. _What is it with him and Hunk?_

Flynn wasn't really too upset to see the other engineer leave. If only he could make… any slim fragment of sense of the man whatever… he shook his head and turned back to Lance with a grin. "Back to watching, then?"

"Hell yeah." They settled back into comfortable silence, getting involved in it again.

"This all must have seemed so insane at the time," Flynn murmured in a brief lull.

Lance looked over at him. Okay, he'd already been looking at him. "Yeah, I suppose it did. Pure fiction then, no spaceships or anything."

"I know what _that's_ like."

"Yeah?" Flynn didn't respond, and Lance gave him a sharp look. "You keep doing that."

"What? I'm watching the movie!"

He seemed entirely sincere about the question, but with Hunk gone Lance wasn't going to let him off that easily. Maybe he was still remembering what he'd let slip before… maybe it was something else. "What was it about Alderaan?"

Flynn startled at the question, then gave him a long, searching look. "It never bothered _you?"_

_What?_ He stared blankly for a moment, then it hit him like a punch to the gut. Oh. "First time I saw it, after… yeah. It hit me harder. Felt like maybe I got what Obi-wan felt. But uh… my dad played this movie for us, from when I was real little. It was a family thing, so it was always a good memory, you know? That made it okay." Frown. They'd been talking about Flynn, not him, and he'd bit on the deflection hard. "Why?"

The engineer blushed slightly. "It's nothing."

"No it's…" _Oh, fuck_. It all suddenly came together. "Your home planet, right? Thought it'd be more like that rather than big boom?"

"…Yeah." He seemed almost relieved not to have to say it himself. Lance understood _that_. "Sorry. It's just a movie."

Lance shook his head. "No, I get it, I think. Good movies always hit on something close to the truth, right?"

"That's true." Flynn gave a small, grim smirk. "And we sure as hell don't have anything that mocks the laws of aerodynamics like the Millennium Falcon, so I guess we have to get our truth elsewhere."

"Shit, yeah." Lance sipped his beer. "Why haven't we created her yet? Man, I used to have dreams about flying her, always got pissed when I woke up."

"We've put together some pretty nice ships, flyboy."

"Yeah, but not the Falcon, come on!"

"She's much too small to spacedock, how would you get her off the ground?"

Lance waved that off. "That's the engineer's fucking problem. I'd just fly her."

His companion, being after all an engineer, did the proper engineer thing and elbowed him. Not hard, but not exactly lightly either. "Not that not understanding what you're flying has _ever_ bitten a pilot in the ass before," he pointed out with a smirk.

"I'm all about defying physics." He smirked right back.

"Defying physics is _my_ job. Taking advantage of my work is yours." Flynn winked, then returned to watching the movie. Just in time, too, as Lance looked up and nearly shoved him off the couch again.

"Oh oh garbage chute best part!"

Garbage chute? Really? He made a face as he watched. "Well that's fairly disgusting."

"It's gross but it's great, _watch_."

It didn't seem worth pointing out he was already watching, so he sat back and complied. And contemplated the nature of blasters and magnetic sealing, because how could he not? Though there was one immediate improvement he could think of for the scene. "Can we toss 3PO in instead?"

Lance laughed. "He has uses."

"Scrap metal is very useful!"

Snort. "Not sure he'd amount to much. Besides, wouldn't be near as interesting as the metal we were just looking at, now would it?" As soon as the words left his lips he frowned; he'd been hoping movie night would keep his mind from drifting back to that, but there it was. _Weird fucking warm metal…_ "It's weird," he muttered as Flynn gave him a curious look.

"It is," the other man agreed, slight irritation creeping into his tone. "And you know intel won't tell us a damn thing once they start analyzing it."

"Yeah…" Lance grimaced. "We won't be told a thing, will we? Send us on this crazy mission and not even tell us if the metal's important. I mean, why me and Kogane? You sure you didn't feel anything?"

"Not a thing." Flynn wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed by that fact. "And even the two of you didn't have the same reaction."

"Fucking weird."

"Maybe we'll find a piece on Sorthal that's bright orange, or purple with blue spots, or something." Smirk. "And it can poison the doctor when he touches it."

Lance spit out his beer, coughing a bit before he recovered. "We can always hope." But even as he said it, it didn't feel right. "But I mean… I didn't get a bad feeling from it." _You didn't get a bad feeling from touching the weird warm metal_. "I sound crazy."

"Your favorite part of this movie is a literal pile of garbage, and you think it's your reaction to the metal that makes you sound crazy?"

For the second time, the pilot doubled over laughing. "It's their first big obstacle, not getting compacted! Weird is metal that feels warm and…" He shook his head. "Oddly comforting."

Flynn considered that for a moment. He wanted to say something about metal… its strength and familiarity, the way every alloy was perfected for its task and yet flexible and variable. The gratification of cutting and welding, the inherent poetry of turning something raw into something functional and beautiful. He wanted to say all of that was comforting.

He thought better of it. "I don't think that's weird at all."

"…Really?"

"Really."

They stared at each other, searching. Both seemed to reach the same conclusion at once, though neither of them could have articulated it. And with an exchange of small grins, they returned to the movie.

*****

Jace was waiting for Hunk in the galley. "That was fast."

"I was motivated!" Hunk handed the binoculars back. "Sneakin' these back to the boss is your problem, though."

"Yeah, lots of sneaking involved. They were in the cargo bay with everything else."  He smirked. "I left your sand on your bed."

"Awesome. Thanks, bro."

"Pleasure working with you. Valeu." Jace flipped his usual casual half-salute and disappeared. Whether the sudden politeness was a good or bad sign was hard to say… no, it wasn't. It was definitely bad.

Well, for the moment, he had the galley all to himself. May as well get some cooking in now before going to find out what the catch was.

There _would_ be a catch. He had no doubt.

*****

Keith was in the gym. He'd been there for awhile, going through some basic exercises with his katana. And waiting. He was expecting company sooner rather than later.

He'd been there for about half an hour when Sven entered. Right on time—his shift should have just ended. He went to one side of the central mat and started stretching, watching Keith's katas with interest.

Neither of them said anything until Keith finished what he was doing. He bowed to the mat and gave the new arrival a sidelong glance. "Do you really use battle axes?" Nickname aside, their unassuming navigator really didn't seem like the type.

But Sven just smiled. "Yes."

Keith grinned too, sheathing his katana and shaking his head. "So, what do you want to do first?"

"You're the ranking officer. You decide."

He couldn't help a laugh. There was that indomitable Viking spirit, _clearly_. "Well, let's just measure each other up then." He crossed over and set the katana on an empty equipment rack. "Some hand to hand sparring?"

Sven nodded, a sly smirk on his lips. "Sounds fun." It had been awhile since he'd had a good sparring match.

Keith nodded and bowed to the mat again. Then he moved to the center, the navigator following. "Let's do this."

"Whenever you're ready."

He bowed first; tradition had to be observed. Then he dropped into a low defensive stance. Sven matched him, dropping into a stance that wasn't quite so low. Keith threw the first feint, which was read easily, and they traded a few wary strikes. Feeling each other out, seeing what they were made of.

Maybe he saw…

After fading away from another testing jab, Keith dropped and flashed one leg out, trying to bring his opponent to the floor. But Sven jumped over his leg and retreated, going into a blocking stance, still watching for an opening.

_He's good._

Sven watched Keith with narrowed eyes, though the corner of his lips twitched. This _was_ going to be fun. No, this was already fun.

"Impressive…" The commander reoriented and tried another strike.

"You're giving me a workout."

Keith pushed him a little harder, and he gave ground. Waiting for his shot. "Thought that was the idea."

Sven chuckled. "Wasn't sure if you would," he taunted with a playful grin.

That got his opponent to step back for a moment, glaring. "Are you calling me old?"

Old? Sven raised an eyebrow. He was quite certain that word hadn't left his lips. "I never said such a thing."

"Sounds like protesting too much to me, boss."

Keith blinked, turning back to the door. Jace was standing there, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. How long had he been there? "Dammit, Doc…"

Smirk. "I play winner."

The fact that Keith had just turned his back on him did _not_ remove him from the competition, Sven was pretty sure. So he took advantage of his distraction and darted forward, landing a solid elbow to his commander's ribs and twisting him to the floor. Keith went down with almost no resistance, coughing as the wind was knocked out of him.

"Well _that_ was underhanded, my dude." Jace wiped away an imaginary tear. "You're growing up so fast."

Keith shook his head, sitting up and taking a moment to catch his breath. "Whatever advantage you can get, huh? Vikings are evil."

"Vikings aren't evil," Sven protested. "They're opportunists."

"Right." Keith rolled to his feet, smirking. "Bring it… Viking."

"Don't beat him _too_ fast, Viking. I've gotta stretch." Jace walked past them to one of the other mats, picking the best spot to watch the fight as he warmed up.

In the momentary lull, Keith rushed forward, and this time he caught Sven wholly by surprise. He dropped him easily to the floor, then grinned and offered him a hand up.

Still pretty certain nobody had actually tapped out, Sven accepted his hand… then rose up in a smooth motion, planting a foot in his stomach and flipping him right back to the floor.

"Whoa!" Keith had the wind knocked out of him for the second time in really much too short a timeframe. "Oh, no. Vikings _are_ evil."

"Opportunists."

"Evil opportunists."

"He's got a point," Jace agreed.

Sven considered that for a moment. "I'll settle for slightly immoral."

Not even Keith could help laughing at that; it had been a long time since he'd had this much fun. He moved in again, ducking under Sven's guard and giving a sharp poke to his ribs.

The bruises from Terina were mostly gone… mostly. Sven retreated with a wince. "And I'm the evil one?"

"I could have landed a full blow." Grin. "See, I'm a nice guy."

With a chuckle, Sven rushed him and grabbed him around the midsection, taking him to the ground fully on his own terms. He wasn't about to let his opponent recover this time. Letting this fight go too long wouldn't be in his best interests… Keith managed to roll over beneath him, but he kept his position and pinned him down.

"Kuso…" Keith knew when he was caught, and tapped out. "Damn… sneaky, evil Viking."

"Slightly immoral," Sven corrected, smiling as he let him up.

"No. Evil." Still, he was grinning broadly. Even ignominious defeat wasn't so bad.

Jace applauded. "Hey, you went down on your ass very gracefully, boss. Several times."

Glare. "Yeah, I can't wait to see the two of you do this." _We'll see who gets the last laugh._

Jace just grinned. "Sure, I'll show you how it's done." He stepped onto the mat as Keith grabbed his towel and retreated, then turned his smug grin on Sven. "Not tired, are you Viking?"

Sven snorted. "Not a chance, Doctor."

"Good." He dropped into a defensive stance. "Prove it."

Keith crossed his arms and leaned back against a wall, watching. Jace's stance looked fairly loose, as stances went, but he could immediately see it offered no opening. Still, that damn smirk of his… he really couldn't help but want Sven to win.

Whether goaded by the smirk or judging the stance, Sven rushed forward almost immediately. Jace made no effort to dodge, instead ducking and grabbing his opponent's legs to take him to the ground. Sven immediately twisted to get on top of him, ending up sitting on his chest, but Jace wasn't really trying to avoid that, either. He only moved a little, just enough to force Sven off his chest, but wrapped his legs around his back so he couldn't fully retreat.

Maybe, Keith mused, this fight was going to be more interesting than he'd expected. The Doc wasn't half bad either.

He was still grinning as he switched to an open guard and torqued Sven's wrist… carefully, of course. "Not bad."

Sven was having none of _that_. The instant the medic relaxed his guard he wrenched his wrist around, forcing Jace to let go or have his own arm locked. Then he threw himself back with all his strength, breaking the guard and vaulting back to his feet in a bit of a flip. "Not bad yourself," he admitted through heavy breaths.

Jace stayed crouched, watching his opponent warily. He'd made that look _way_ too easy. But it certainly hadn't really been that easy, and he was looking a little worn out now. "You look tired." Grin. "Need a nap?"

He'd hoped for a lunge, something he could take advantage of. What he got instead was Sven's gray eyes narrowing. "I'm telling the Commander what you did."

…Oh surely not. "Fuck, you _are_ underhanded." For a split second Sven looked very satisfied by that response, and that was when Jace charged. The navigator made an ill-fated attempt to dodge, but he grabbed one leg and spun him around, dragging him down and grabbing him from behind.

Before Sven could recover his wits, he had Jace's arm across his throat.

"You're not _really_ gonna make me knock you out here to prove a point, right?"

_Oh, that's no good._ Sven knew a blood choke when he felt one, and there was no way he was getting out of this one from such an indefensible position. He was briefly tempted to hold out, just to prove a point of his own. But as dark spots started swimming before his eyes it occurred to him that he couldn't tell on the _brat_ who was holding him if he was unconscious.

He tapped the mat.

Immediately the pressure let up. Jace let go of him and watched him stand, glowering slightly… then he laughed. "Slightly immoral doesn't always do it, Viking."

Very true. Sven rubbed his neck, glowering right back, then smirked and turned to their thoroughly bewildered commander. "Hey, Keith."

"Yeah?"

"…You bastard." Jace stood and glared daggers at him. "I'm so proud. And so gonna fucking kill you."

Sven just smirked more, his attention still on Keith. "Do you remember that video footage you deleted of you falling down that dune?"

Oh, did he. "Yeah…"

"Jace recovered it."

"… _Did_ he now?" Keith turned and gave the medic a dark look.

All it got was an unapologetic shrug. "You can't just delete it, boss. It's part of the official record!" He paused, then grinned. "And funny as fuck."

"Hmm." Keith just kept staring. It didn't take long for the message to get across.

"…We're gonna fight now, huh?"

"Yeah." Keith tossed the towel aside, striding back up to the mat and bowing before taking up a stance. "You're going to have to earn that footage."

"Retroactively?" Jace smirked and stood, taking a couple of steps back. "I'll accept it."

Sven decided this was an _excellent_ time to get out of the blast radius, and took up a position along the wall to watch.

For a few very long seconds they just stared at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Jace was looking relaxed again, but Keith knew that to be a lie. He faked a kick, testing.

The medic didn't bite. "You can't _still_ be tired."

Keith couldn't help a smirk of his own at that, his eyes glinting darkly. Then he rushed and feigned another kick, then threw a couple of quick strikes before retreating. Jace went to the ground immediately, ducking the strikes but failing to get a grip to bring his opponent down too. He remained crouched, watching sharply.

What was going on here was becoming rapidly clear to Keith. He went in for a few more fakes, forcing the medic to react.

He wasn't the only one figuring things out. "I see what you're doing…"

"And what's that?"

"You're trying to fake me out until I drop my—" He lunged mid-word, undercutting Keith and flipping him to the mat. "—guard."

Admittedly, Keith hadn't seen _that_ coming, but he rolled with the momentum. Jace tried to get into a more serviceable guard and was rewarded with a fist to the gut; he tumbled off to the side and coughed as his commander regained his feet.

"…Not terrible."

Keith watched quietly. Once again Jace wasn't standing. "You alright, Doc?"

"Not sure. You gonna help me up?"

Hmm. "You're not going to pull a Viking on me, are you?"

"Would I do that?"

Keith glanced over at Sven, who was watching with narrowed eyes. "…Yeah, you would."

"I totally would," Jace agreed, then lunged again.

It was all too clear he wanted this fight on the ground, which was reason enough for Keith not to want it there. It did make sense—ground fighting would largely negate what was a significant range and strength advantage. But he didn't have to cooperate. He jumped up and kicked as the medic darted at him, catching him solidly in the shoulder. To his surprise, Jace did little to dodge it. Instead he took the hit to get in position, grabbing Keith's other leg and making another attempt to get him to the ground.

It worked… kind of.

Keith tried to break his grip, but all he really accomplished was punching him in the same shoulder he'd kicked. No doubt that would be interesting colors tomorrow. As a last ditch effort he grabbed Jace's collar and yanked him off the floor.

"…Hey!" Jace glared, grabbing that arm and torquing it. But he wasn't in a good position at all, and he knew it.

Obviously Keith knew it too—in a single smooth motion he'd bent Jace's other arm behind his back, seeming completely unconcerned about the haphazard lock his other wrist was in. And why shouldn't he be? He had all the leverage, and his captive opponent barely dared move.

Jace glared, on principle, and Keith bent his arm just a little further. Possibly also on principle. "You done?"

_Shit, he's good._ "Yeah," he admitted through gritted teeth. "I'm done." He let go of Keith's wrist, not quite able to fully keep up his scowl. It wasn't bad at all to have a challenge.

"That was fun."

"Definitely fun to watch."

"We should do that more often." Jace flipped them both a casual salute. "Minus the part where I lose."

"We should," Sven agreed.

Keith laughed, bowing to them both. "It's certainly a good way to kick off some stress." He closed his eyes, relaxing a little as his muscles burned nicely.

"The others still saw the footage," Jace whispered. Keith opened his eyes and glared. "What? Information wants to be free!"

"Don't worry, Commander." Sven shook his head. "It's not near as funny as watching it in person, I assure you."

Shaking his head, Keith looked back at Jace. "Well, he _let_ me win, so I suppose he earned his laugh." Was that a challenge? Oh yes, that was a challenge. And from the way the medic's dark eyes narrowed, he caught it. But any avenging himself would have to wait. "I'm going to go hit the showers and then have a drink." He bowed again to the mat. "Gentlemen, it's been fun."

The other two watched him go, then Jace shrugged. "I'm gonna do those in the opposite order. You in, Viking?" He paused as his mind caught up with his mouth. "…For the _drink_."

"…But I wanted a shower."

Of course he did. "You can have a shower. Just not with me." Sven made a disgusted face that was maybe a bit too much so. "Oh now _that's_ uncalled for."

Sven sighed. But if he were honest, a bit of pre-shower refreshment didn't sound all so unattractive. "Let's go drink, I guess. Lance still hasn't taught me about beer, he was supposed to when we got finished on Terina, until I got beat up by boar-tahs. He said something about a class."

He was getting very used to Jace's judgmental looks. "A class? I'm afraid to even think about it." Snort. "Come on, _I'll_ teach you about beer. Lesson one: it gets you drunk."

"I've never had one." The hours when he ought to have been bar crawling at the Academy, he'd spent studying. Or, maybe more analogous, being dragged to fancy events and drinking fancy wine and liquor with his parents. "Does it taste bad? I've heard it tastes bad."

"It tastes horrible. You'll love it. Come on."

Sven blinked. "If it tastes horrible why do people drink it?"

That got him a very long judgmental look. Finally Jace sighed. "Viking?"

_I said something stupid again, didn't I?_ "Yes?"

The medic punched his shoulder playfully… though not lightly. "Shut up and come find out."

Rubbing his shoulder and shaking his head, Sven followed.

*****

He might have gotten a _little_ carried away with the cooking. Just a little. Getting carried away was Hunk's specialty, of course. But now that the galley was stocked with enough maple bacon muffins to last them all the way to Sorthal, it was time to finally go get his well-earned sand.

It wasn't that he expected Jace to have outright lied—though as he'd told Lance and Flynn, the footage alone had been totally worth the effort. It was just that Jace was, well… Jace.

As it happened, he'd been true to his word. There was a large quantity of sand waiting on Hunk's bed.

Problem was, it wasn't in a container.

For a minute, Hunk just stared at his sandy sheets and blanket, trying to remember if the _Firecrow_ n's laundry system could even deal with abrasive particulate matter. Then a slow smile started to creep over his face. "Well played, bro. Well played."

Their medic wanted to play things that way? Totally fine. Hunk was game.

*****

Taking a deep breath, Tanner looked across the desk at the stack of books waiting for him. Each one was filled with history, equations, and bits of general information he'd rather not fill his head with. Not that any of the books were _boring_ , just… he didn’t _want_ to be doing his schoolwork right now. Usually Nanny would be hovering over him, but she wasn't there right now, so Tanner quickly moved from his seat and down the hall to his father's study.

There he found the High King writing in a small book while checking various notes. Slowly Tanner walked up to him in hope to surprise him, only to hear his father surprise him instead…

"I can hardly believe that you are finished with your lessons, Tanner. Is there something that may be more important at this moment?" Alfor asked without lifting his head from his task.

"Well…" Not wanting to do his schoolwork _was_ important. Thinking as fast as he could, he suggested, "I was hoping for a bit of a break. Perhaps if I could do something else for awhile, I could focus more on my work."

Alfor looked down at his son. He didn’t like the idea that Tanner was attempting to skip out on his lessons for the hundredth time. Yet as he was thinking of how the young prince should not be relaxing in his duties, an idea formed. There _was_ something he himself wanted to do with his son. Perhaps a break from lessons could yield some knowledge after all.

"How about this? I have a small task to perform with the Black Lion, would you like to join me?" Tanner’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, and Alfor smiled.

It was a quick trip through the hidden tunnels to the den. Quick, but never thoughtless. The path demanded contemplation. The secrets hidden here were kept by the Crown alone. It couldn't be otherwise; the dens were sacred, and what slept within them all the more so. And so it went that Alfor's quest for answers had to be his alone… mostly.

The den was dark. Flickers of lightning from outside, the storms of Thunder Ridge, occasionally lit the interior, but most of the light came from a few artificial torches at the end of the tunnel. It was still more than enough to see what lay within. An enormous robotic lion forged of black metal, great silver paws stretched out as it slept, crimson wings folded on its back. Though its eyes were dim, the expression on its face was one of fierce nobility.

Tanner froze in the entryway, momentarily stunned. Then he cried out in delight and ran forward.

It seemed not that long ago, Alfor mused, that he had brought Allura for her first trip to see the Black Lion. Though his children were such different personalities, he could see the similarities, in their excitement at seeing what was considered a mere fairy tale with their own eyes. The awestruck face, the hands eager to touch the great Lion… it was good. In time, his children would have the duty to protect this place. To unlock its secrets, if their father could not. For now, Alfor just smiled, letting Tanner explore around Black as he checked sensors he had hidden in the den.

Tanner was amazed by Black’s size. Listening to the stories, he had believed that the Lions were the size of a normal lion, or just a bit larger. The realization of Black being so huge was incredible. Looking over the sleeping robot’s form, he found a way to at least climb up the front paw. Fussing a bit as he made his way to the top of the paw, he rested with his legs dangling between the claws.

Gazing over the sleek lion, Tanner sighed happily. After all the stories he'd heard… "Oh, if only I could tell others about you! I bet if you were flying across the sky, everyone would forget what they were doing to watch you…"

Letting his feet rest gently against the cool metal, Tanner imagined Black awake and sitting proudly in the den. Then he remembered the purpose of the Lions, and it caused him to worry. As long as the lions slept, there was a promise of protection from them, if his memory was correct. But while he wasn’t too sure about that, he _was_ sure that if the lions woke up, they would be called to protect anywhere in the universe.

"Black… if you woke up, would you leave us forever?"

Immediately he wanted to bite his tongue, feeling silly for asking questions of that which could not answer back, but it was a valid fear. All the tales stated the Lions were made to help defend those who needed it. What if they were to leave? Would they come back when the task they left Arus for was done? Was Arus home to the Lions, that they would always come back to rest between missions?

The young prince frowned at the silence, knowing that Black couldn't do anything to help ease his worry. Yet, as he sat there, he noticed the metal paw no longer had a cool feeling to it. Instead there was a warmth in it, not just where he sat but throughout. A feeling almost like a hug filled him, and in his heart, he somehow knew he was heard… maybe not the answer he was expecting or hoping for, but being heard did help ease his mind.

Alfor noted the sensor readings as they abruptly came alive and danced about. They were not as strong as when Allura first came… but it was more than he'd ever gotten when he had come to the den alone. Looking over to Black, he shook his head in bemusement. "Why does this happen only with my children?" Sighing, he printed a few readouts from the instruments, then looked back into the lion's dim golden eyes. "Sooner or later… I’ll figure you out."


	12. Trials Unknown

Sorthal was an odd little planet, with two large continents separated by a faintly violet ocean. Only one of the continents was inhabited, but it wasn't that the native Sorith were a primitive race. They just seemed, based on the Alliance's scouting, to not _like_ the other continent for some reason.

The site was on that other continent, of course. For once it was easily accessible: a large, flat expanse that had once been paved with smooth stones. It was somewhat overgrown now, but not too much so for Lance to bring the _Firecrown_ in for a tolerable landing.

Keith was the first off the ramp, looking around the complex with a small frown. "Well, it won't be hard to remember where we parked." The site's only real feature was a bunker-like building across from the ship, built of pale gray stone covered in what looked like flowering moss. "Let's get the ship hidden and we can get to what we're doing here."

"On it, boss!" Hunk unfurled the _Firecrown_ 's camouflage tarp. It didn't really match the surroundings, and looked pretty ridiculous, but at least it would block scans. He and Flynn worked on getting it anchored over the ship as the others disembarked.

"Well this place looks dull," Lance observed.

"Takes dull to know dull," Jace fired back immediately.

Snort. "Like you'd know exciting."

Sven was staring at him, not sure what would possess anyone to say that out loud. Hadn't they had enough excitement already this mission? "Someone better knock on wood," he mumbled.

Lance rapped his knuckles on Jace's head, which earned him a death glare. "Wrong wood, dumbass."

"I'm not touching you there!"

"Knock your own, probably got plenty of experience."

Keith looked between them and sighed. "That's enough. Let's go." He adjusted his backpack and headed for the bunker.

"Yes sir." Sven followed quickly, pointedly ignoring whatever Jace had gotten himself into this time. The others fell in behind him.

It was warm here—no Kithran, by any means, but tropical. Lance pushed up his sleeves, and Hunk tucked his vest away in his backpack. The complex seemed much _larger_ on foot. But soon enough they'd reached the bunker and circled around to find the door. It was heavy and metal, and Keith studied it intently for an opening mechanism. "Come on, there has to be something." He didn't really want to have to blow the door if they could help it.

Hunk came up beside him anyway, looked at the door, and pushed it. With a screech of rust it cracked open.

Oh. "Okay, when in doubt, just push," Keith muttered. Hunk smiled sweetly as the others snickered. "Come on. Be careful in here."

The interior was a single large chamber. They activated flashlights, and Hunk set up a small lantern. It seemed the structure was empty… but along the far wall, five colored sigils gleamed in the dim light.

"Whoa."

"That's… different."

"Wow…"

"This is… impressive."

The far left rune was golden yellow, a large downward-pointing V shape with what looked something like an anvil nestled above it. The second was green, resembling an arrow, or perhaps a tree. In the center, the black rune was almost fully incomprehensible; three jagged lines that narrowed on one side. Next was a red rune that very much resembled a stylized flame. And lastly, the far right rune was blue, looking something like a snowflake… though it also gave the vague sense of two sharp eyes watching them. Despite the apparent age of the structure, they were all clean and bright.

"Huh…?" Lance approached the rune directly in front of him, the green one. "Kind of pretty."

"They're pretty amazing," Keith said quietly. "And it seems really clean in here, like maybe the locals come around every now and then?" That didn't make sense, given what they knew of Sorthal, but he was kind of getting used to things that didn't make sense on this mission.

"Hey." Jace wasn't looking at the wall. "These things are carved into the floor, too." The others looked down; the runes on the floor mirrored those on the wall, their colors more muted but still clear.

"They're beautiful," Sven murmured.

Hunk had walked right up to the blue one, and was running his hand over it. The color was smooth and glossy, not quite metallic. "Some kinda enamel, probably. Someone went to a lot of trouble for… uh… a room."

"Gotta mean something then, right?"

"Something…"

"They must mean _something_ , but what?"

"Locals with too much free time?"

For a few moments they fell silent, focused on examining the runes. Sven was turning in a slow circle, taking everything in. Keith joined Hunk at the blue one, while Flynn knelt over the black one on the floor and examined the smooth tiles. Jace was standing over the green rune, though he was looking at the yellow one; Lance had his nose nearly touching the green one, anyway. "Maybe it's some kind of weird art museum?"

"Gonna knock on that too?"

Lance just turned back to Jace and smirked. But then, why not? He raised his hand.

Before he could actually knock on the rune, all hell broke loose.

Sven tripped over the edge of the black rune as he turned, losing his footing and falling into Flynn. With a startled yelp Flynn reached out to steady himself, and felt his hand hit something that gave way slightly. A sharp _click_ echoed through the chamber, followed by a low rumble beneath their feet.

"Uh, guys? What's that noise?"

"That can't be good…"

"Flynn, dude, what did you do?"

Flynn shot Lance a mild scowl; it hadn't been _his_ fault. Though it was a pretty good question regardless. "I can't even see what I…" As he spoke the border of the black runes started to… glow? Then the other runes were glowing too.

"Dude!"

"Oh hell."

"What the fuck?"

The floor dropped out from under them.

*****

Flynn hit the ground hard, failing at any effort he might have made to break his fall. He stayed still, only for someone to land just as hard on top of him. "Faex!" The answering groan sounded vaguely like their navigator. He braced for a moment, half expecting someone else to land on them both, but when it didn't happen he pulled himself out from beneath the other man and fought to regain his breath. "You… alright?"

The answer came after some hesitation. "Yes, you?" Sven pulled himself up and offered a hand.

Taking his hand, Flynn stood cautiously. Nothing seemed to be broken, at least. "I'm f…" The words died on his lips as he got his first good look at where they were.

They were standing at one end of a long, dark corridor. Dark, but not completely black; there was a faint ambient lighting that seemed to come from the walls themselves, casting the place in ghostly shades of blue and violet. Every couple of seconds, blinding white light flickered in the distance.

If he didn't know better, Flynn would have said it was _lightning_.

"…Ask me again later," he muttered finally, suddenly quite sure _alright_ wasn't the proper word for this situation. "What do you suppose this is about?"

"Well…" Sven was looking around too, gray eyes narrowed slightly. "I have no idea."

That wasn't a good answer, and Flynn shot him a disgruntled look. "You could make something up."

Sven returned the look calmly. "But that would be lying. And unhelpful."

"Ideas are usually better than no ideas, at least in my line of—" A brighter light flashed, and a faint rumble followed it; he winced. "—work."

"Well then…" Sven had looked a bit unsettled by the lightning as well. "It looks like a dark hallway with what I'm hoping is a flickering light bulb." He did not sound the least bit convinced.

"…Yes." Looking up at the ceiling, there were definitely not any light bulbs. Nor was there any hint of where they'd fallen from. "Let's just go with that, shall we?"

Another flicker of light, that was definitely not a light bulb, illuminated Sven's nod. Well… it wasn't a convincing bit of denial, but it was what they had. And there wasn't much else to see here. Further down the corridor, the only notable feature besides the flickering light was visible; it looked like a pedestal of some sort.

"…I guess there's only one way to go?"

Sven didn't look enthused. "I suppose so," he agreed with a sigh. "Would you like to go first or shall I?"

Flynn eyed him for a moment. He had barely even directly spoken to their navigator, who usually seemed content to keep to himself off duty, and wasn't fully certain how best to work with him. Well, time to figure it out. "I'll go." He offered a sly grin. "In case we have to shoot something."

Even in the dimness he could see the other man's blush. "I've been practicing!"

"I believe you. But these are terrible practice conditions." He winked and moved forward, hand on his sidearm, watching for any sign of danger. It took about two steps for him to find it.

The floor gave out beneath him, _again_.

Sven jumped back reflexively as Flynn cried out, the floor suddenly awash with light. No, it wasn't the floor but an empty space underneath it. The engineer sprang back, staring at where he'd just been standing; about a five foot section of the dark tile swung back into place, concealing the blue-white light crackling beneath it as a few sparks dissipated into the darkness.

For a moment that seemed very long, they just turned and stared at each other with wide eyes. " _Okay_ then…"

"…At least I won't have to shoot anything?"

Flynn visibly bit back a laugh. "Definitely not going to be an issue." He knelt and pushed down on the floor in front of him, which seemed to swing down easily. Beneath it, what looked like raw lightning was crackling across a tight grid, occasionally flickering up out of the opening. On the opposite side of the corridor, the other half of the panel rose up, revealing the same electrical field.

"That looks… fun," Sven observed dryly.

The engineer didn't look up, still trying to find how far the floor would tilt. He wasn't finding any apparent limit. "You _do_ have an interesting idea of fun."

Sven snapped his head around suspiciously. "Have you been talking to Jace?"

"Not if I can help it," Flynn muttered. He had actually been talking to Kogane, who was apparently learning about _battle axes_ from the resident Viking, but it didn't seem like the time to comment on that.

A half smirk crept over Sven's lips. "He's not that bad," he said unconvincingly.

"Objection, assumes facts not in evidence." As Sven laughed Flynn lapsed into preoccupation. The lightning below the floor didn't make any sense. "There must be a generator somewhere," he murmured, "but how would it still be running? And if we can't get to it…"

"Only one part of the floor is moving." And it wasn't that large a segment, really. With a running start it wouldn't be hard to jump. "Do you think the rest is stable?"

"I don't think so. You can still see the electricity underneath the next part." Flynn drew his hand back, letting the floor panel swing back into place. He seemed lost in thought—probably complicated engineering thought—but Sven couldn't help wondering about the obvious.

"Hmm." The panel had to balance _somewhere_. "Maybe if we try to just go down the middle?" He pushed down on what looked like the center of the panel, and the tile gave slightly beneath his hand. A soft hum sounded for a second, then lightning arced. He pulled his hand back, watching a few more bolts strike the center of the panel, wincing at the searing sensation running through his fingers. "Ow…"

"You alright?"

"Yes." The word was a struggle.

Flynn was giving him a searching look, clearly unconvinced, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth pursuing. What could they do about it here anyway? "If you say so. I guess now either we wait for the others and hope…" He stood and looked down the corridor, exhaling deeply. "…or we try to balance this thing out, I suppose."

Waiting. What good would waiting do? Especially waiting in the creepy lightning room. Besides, who knew if their teammates were in their own mess? "I say we balance it out. The others might need help as well."

The other man nodded, then closed his eyes for a moment. Maybe more engineering thoughts. "Alright. We'll need to both get on at the same time, obviously. One of us will need to stay still while the other adjusts, if we both try to move we'll just screw it all up." He opened his eyes again, violet gaze spearing Sven with the unspoken question.

"Yes sir." It all sounded reasonable. "I'll move."

"Okay." Flynn looked over at the wall, then moved a bit closer to the center. "You're lighter than me, you'll need to be a bit further out."

Basic physics. Easy enough. They could do this. Sven positioned himself, then looked over at his companion, who was watching him sharply. "Ready?"

"Now." Both of them stepped onto the moving panel, tensing as it rocked slightly beneath them. Sven took about a half-step towards the center as Flynn crouched, holding his balance and his breath; the rocking largely stopped. "…Ceve."

Sven didn't know what that meant, nor even what language it was, and was pretty certain he wouldn't approve of it. None of that stopped him from _agreeing_ with it. "Ready for me to move?"

Flynn nodded. "Let's get to the edge… slowly."

The ambient lightning was still flashing as they inched their way forward. They'd both almost managed to tune it out entirely, focused on more immediate dangers. But right about as they reached the edge, one bolt snapped out and struck Flynn in the cheek. He hissed, freezing up for a moment; the platform wobbled and Sven looked over with concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just startled me." It stung, but it didn't matter. More pressing issues.

Nod. "Good. Let's do this." On an unspoken signal they both stepped forward.

Lightning flashed.

"Ahck!" Sven gave a short, ragged scream as the bolt stabbed into his knee, and lurched to the side as his leg briefly gave out. The new platform immediately started to tilt his way, and he scrambled to regain his feet, but it only seemed to be making it worse as the floor shifted.

For a split second, Flynn was torn. He could move back and hopefully balance the platform out, hope Sven regained control of himself instead of staggering further… but that wasn't where his instincts took him. Instead he moved a step closer to the center, stretching his arm out. "Here!"

Flailing for control, Sven reached out desperately, and their fingers just barely touched. The engineer's hand closed tightly on his and he felt himself being steadied and dragged back towards the center, gritting his teeth against the pain as the platform leveled off.

Both of them let out a long sigh of relief, and Flynn looked at the scorched patch on Sven's pant leg. "Will you be okay?"

_Okay_ wasn't the word Sven would have chosen, but he could work through the pain. He had to. There was no choice, and they both knew it. "Fine."

"…Alright. Let's keep moving."

"Let's."

They crept forward even more slowly this time, pausing at the next edge. Flynn looked back to him and held his arm out again. "Whatever happens," he said softly, "hold on."

Sven took a deep breath, bracing mentally as he took Flynn's arm. "Yes sir."

"Go."

Another stronger bolt of lightning flashed out as they stepped to the next panel, this time taking Flynn in the shoulder. He stumbled, tightening his grip on Sven's arm, and just barely kept his balance. The platform held.

Both of them exchanged silent nods. No point asking anymore. They were on the razor's edge, and pain was going to be part of it. All they could do was keep moving. And slowly but surely the rhythm was becoming easier, their coordination becoming nearly second nature as they forged their way through the lightning.

Neither of them was at all expecting it when after at least a dozen panels, they jumped back to solid ground.

"We did it!"

"Faex…" Flynn looked back at the corridor they'd crossed. Had it really only been that long? "Seemed a hell of a lot further than that, didn't it?"

"Yes, it did." All Sven wanted to do right now was stand here and bask in the feeling of a floor that _didn't move_. Or maybe he wanted to go take a shower, just for tradition's sake. Neither of those was an option; as a small arc hitting his hand reminded him, they were still stuck in a bizarre corridor of angry thunderbolts.

Flynn moved slowly towards the pedestal, testing each step before committing just in case the floor had any more nasty surprises for them. Nothing happened. As he reached the pedestal he relaxed a little, studying it with curiosity; it was just black stone, with a piece of twisted glass sitting on top of it. The glass' shape was unusual, but not wholly alien. "I think this is a key."

"Maybe it opens the door?" Sven suggested, gesturing past the pedestal. In the next flash of lightning, a seam in the wall was clearly visible.

Maybe this situation didn't call for snark, but he couldn't quite help it. "That what they teach you in navigation?" he asked with a playful grin. "What keys do?"

Sven opened his mouth to retort, and immediately realized he really didn't have a retort handy. So he just closed his mouth and tried not to look like he was pouting. Though he _was_ pouting. Just a little.

With another grin, Flynn turned back around and took the key.

The same hum they'd heard before washed over them, much louder this time. Both of them froze, not that it would have made much difference. They only had a split second to register the sound before at least a dozen bolts crashed down around around the pedestal.

Flynn screamed. All he could see was white, pain burning into his eyes as fiercely as the rest of him. He went down immediately, smelling smoke, feeling intense heat, and somehow found the strength to roll over and smother the flames that had sparked on his jacket. That was all the strength he had. He lay motionless, gasping for breath, his heart racing as his vision slowly returned.

"Holy—" Sven's voice sounded very far away, but his footsteps were like thunder as he rushed over. "Are you alright?"

As soon as he asked that, he felt ridiculous. _Of course he's not alright, he was just struck by lightning and set on fire._ Maybe it was enough that he was breathing.

"Give… me… a minute… _fuck_."

"Language." Flynn's unfocused eyes immediately attempted a glare, and he blushed. That had just kind of come out. "Sorry. Habit."

"…Ceveo." It came out as a barely audible rasp, and Sven chose to believe it meant something completely innocent. After a few more moments Flynn slowly worked his way into a sitting position, checking over the scorched holes in his jacket and hissing in pain. "I'm intact."

"That's better than not being intact, I guess."

"You know…" Flynn closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. "Thought you… were the nice one."

Sven snorted. Of course he was the nice one, it wasn't that high a bar. He kept a watchful eye on the engineer for a little while longer; he did seem to be recovering. Looking back at the pedestal he noticed something unusual. Where the key had been sitting, there was an indentation with an odd mechanism beneath it, circuits and switches in an alien pattern. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before.

"Okay…" Flynn had mostly gotten his breath back, and it no longer felt like his heart was going to tear its way out of his chest and do laps. He'd taken some minor shocks before in his work, but nothing at all like _that_. He stood shakily, the key still clutched in his hand. "Let's… get out of here… and hope the others had less fun than we did."

Getting out of here sounded _fantastic_. They moved to the door, which didn't have any apparent doorknob or keyhole. What it did have, set in its center, was an indentation with a curious pattern of circuits beneath it.

Did he really want to put the key in there, after everything else that had happened in here? No, not really, but options were in short supply. "Think this is it?"

"Yes…" Sven's eyes narrowed. "Don't put it in though!"

His voice was too sharp and urgent for it to be coming from simple caution, and Flynn turned to him again. "What's wrong?"

He pointed to the indentation. "That was underneath the key on the pedestal. I'm fairly sure it causes," he pointed up, "the lightning."

Oh. Flynn hadn't seen anything underneath the key, he'd been a bit preoccupied with being electrocuted. "That's not ideal."

"No, not ideal at all."

"Here." The engineer handed him the key and crouched to study the mechanism. It wasn't telling him much; it was incomprehensible from the outside, and he didn't have the tools with him to crack the thing open. Which, from all they'd seen so far, would probably be a horrible idea anyway… not to mention his hands were still shaky.

Sven watched. It wasn't looking great, certainly not when Flynn slumped backwards and exhaled in frustration. What could he be expected to do with it, really? The mechanism was embedded in a solid slab of stone or metal or whatever this door was, and he'd just been _struck by lightning_.

He was obviously in no shape to take another shock, either. Sven looked at the key in his hand, grimacing. _We need to get out of here. Preferably quickly, the others could still need our help._ His eyes darted between the mechanism and the key. One obvious, if unattractive, solution was presenting itself. _Screw it._ He took a deep breath and pushed the key into the slot.

"What the hell are you—"

Flynn's startled cry vanished into Sven's scream as the lightning erupted again. It ripped through him and sent him to the floor without any memory of the fall; his whole body felt like it was on fire, and the cool stone of the floor was like heaven. He stayed put, shaking uncontrollably.

_Owww…_

"Holgersson?" Flynn scrambled over—well, scrambled was a relative term—and checked for a pulse as his training kicked in with a vengeance. Engineers _were_ taught a thing or two about electrocution, though he hadn't expected to be using it in a situation like this. The navigator's pulse was fluttering, but strong enough, and after a few moments he made a weak thumbs-up with the hand Flynn was checking. He sighed, relieved, and fell back. "…I see why you and Kogane get along, anyway. Couple of noble idiots." His tone was genuinely affectionate.

Sven cracked an eye open, studying him, and was surprised to see the other man smiling. Which was nice, he wasn't sure he had the energy for a clever retort. "Did… it… open?"

Oh, right. There had been a _door_ at the center of all this drama. Looking up, he saw the door had indeed cracked, and light was glowing around the edges. "It opened." He got to his knees and offered Sven an arm. "Let's get out of here."

The two half dragged each other off the floor, and gratefully left the strange lightning gauntlet behind them.

*****

Lance had been swearing his head off the whole way down, and he hadn't been the only one. Jace tumbled to the floor behind him, snarling every curse he knew and a few he'd made up. For a moment they both just lay on the floor exchanging more and more creative vulgarities, united in their rage at whatever the hell had just happened.

Then Lance looked up, and his mouth dropped open. "Are we in a damn forest?"

"Hey, plenty of wood for you now."

"Oh fuck off."

There probably wasn't really any wood, anyway. They were in a corridor of mossy green stone, with rays of bright light pouring from the ceiling high above. The floor, the walls, and the ceiling were all covered in thick vines, ghostly green and bristling with inch-long silvery thorns. Several of them were moving, rippling in the sourceless wind that was running through the room, to hell with any rules about how weather actually worked.

Jace took in the vines quickly, then turned; he was much more interested in finding where they'd come from. But there was no sign of the trapdoor they'd fallen through. "Not seeing anywhere to fuck off _to_ , caralho. Otherwise believe me, I would."

Ignoring him, Lance took a step forward. He saw something that might have been a door on the other end of the corridor, but the vines were in the way… he tried to push one aside. But the vine had no intention of being pushed aside. It snapped up and wrapped tight around his forearm, the thorns digging into his skin, and he yelped in shock.

"What did you do?" Jace demanded, exasperated; all he could see was the other man's back. "Stab yourself on thorns? Get back here."

"It's _alive!"_ Lance yelled back in a panic.

"Of fucking course it's alive! It's a plant, that's how they—" As he spoke, Jace walked up to see what Lance was yelling about, and when he saw the mockery died on his lips. "Oh, shit."

"I fucking _know_ that— _ow ow ow_ —get it _off!"_ The more he struggled, the tighter the vines seemed to get.

Jace grabbed for his arm, but he was flailing too much. "Hey! Stay still, I can't get this thing off you if you punch me!" Lance didn't quite manage to stay _still_ , but he did control himself enough for Jace to grab his arm and attempt to yank the vine away.

The vine, once again, wasn't interested. It wrapped still tighter, digging deep enough to start cutting off his circulation. Of course, that only made his hand numb and tingly, it didn't do a damn thing for the pain of the thorns. "You're making it worse, what kind of doctor are you?"

"You got any better ideas?" Jace snapped. Right about then, a powerful gust of wind roared through the corridor. The vine reared up and smacked him in the face, leaving several pale scratches across his cheek. "Shit!"

Lance started to laugh, but the vine wrapping back around his arm and making a whole new set of holes shut him up. "Fucking holy— _ow!"_

"Oh sure, laugh. Maybe I'll fucking _leave you there."_ His mind was racing, despite his words. There had to be some way of dealing with this. Maybe… "…let's see if I can cut it off. Try to stay still." He knelt and started digging through his medical bag.

Stay still. Easy for him to say. Though Lance had already been trying to do just that; it seemed like the vines hurt less if his arm wasn't moving. He watched the medic rummaging through his bag, which looked like a disaster. Maybe the fall had thrown everything around. "If you get this thing off me, I'll marry you."

"…Thought you _wanted_ it off?"

"Point. If you get it off I'll never talk to you again." His arm wavered as he spoke, and the vines tightened immediately. _Huh_ … he redoubled his efforts on holding still, and could actually feel them loosening.

Jace pulled a small scalpel from his bag, then shook his head in disgust. There was no way it would cut through the thick stems. "Porra."

"Uh… are you seeing this?"

"Huh?" The medic looked up, dark eyes following Lance's gaze to the loosening vine. "…The fuck?"

"What the…?" Lance felt the thorns sliding cleanly out of the wounds, and the whole vine fell away. With a long exhale he staggered back from the plants, nearly tripping over Jace in the process.

"Shit. Let me see." The wounds were ugly, streaming blood all along Lance's forearm. Fortunately none of the thorns seemed to have pierced either major artery, but they'd done plenty of damage without it.

"Did it… did that…" Lance was still staring at the vines, then turned his attention to the mangled mess that was his arm. _"Ow."_

Jace had pulled the strongest antiseptic he had in his kit, hoping it would be sufficient for whatever germs the thorns may have been carrying. "It worked, if that's what you're asking. It didn't make a fucking shred of sense, if that's what you're asking. Hold still, this'll sting like a bitch for about ten seconds." It probably couldn't be as bad as giant thorns; from Lance's silent wince, he seemed to agree. "Got some topical painkiller here too. It's good stuff, you'll be fine."

Truthfully, Lance wasn't really listening. He'd just been attacked by vines, for fuck's sake. "Okay, other things have been weird, but this is _fucking weird."_

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Jace agreed, wrapping his arm in stretchy gauze, then looked at the mess of plants too. "So… worse or better than angry cat-pig-things?"

"Worse!" Lance yelled, waving his arm in the medic's face. Blood was already seeping through the bandages.

Fair enough, Jace supposed. He pulled out an empty syringe and removed the needle—no sense making these damn things any pointier—then nudged it towards the nearest vine, just to see what would happen.

A small tendril immediately snapped out, wrapped around the syringe, and yanked it right out of his hand. "Okay, okay! You can have it!"

"…Yeah, that's not creepy."

"Not a bit creepy."

Lance sighed, looking down the corridor. The demonstration didn't make him feel any better about what was coming next, but what could they do about it? "I did see a door at the end… so that means we have to go through them."

That got him a look like he'd gone completely insane. Which, to be fair, the surroundings had briefly made him wonder about himself. "Go through them."

"Do you see another way out of here?"

"…No." Scowl. "Just wondering how you think we're gonna do _that."_

It wasn't a bad point. Annoying, but not bad. Lance stepped to the edge of the vines, looking out over them and frowning. They weren't all that different in color from the stones, but different enough. If he focused he could see empty patches amidst the tangled thorns.

"Well…" He watched the vines as they waved softly in the wind, taking in the pattern, then jumped over one to an empty spot on the floor. "There is a path, kind of."

"A path?" Jace packed his kit up and stood, trying to see what the pilot was seeing. There _were_ bare spots. Not exactly what he'd have described as a path, but they were there.

"I mean, it'll take some dodging and crap." Lance took another step and his foot nudged a vine, which immediately lashed out and wrapped around his ankle. Luckily the thorns couldn't penetrate his boots; he stood dead still and soon enough the vine retreated. "Right, so, we stick to the path and they'll play nice."

Jace hesitantly stepped into the open spot Lance had just vacated. Nothing attacked him. "I'm all the hell in favor of them playing nice."

"You _are!"_

"No, actually I'd be totally cool if they dragged you away and ate you, except I really hate losing patients. Move it."

Rolling his eyes, Lance returned his full focus to the vines. They were always moving, some more than others, and the patterns could get complex. He took a deep breath and stepped forward again. "Like you could get out of this without me."

Jace followed, snorting derisively. "Or I'd have noticed the path if I hadn't been so busy cleaning you up from getting attacked by a plant."

"Sure you would." As he forged further into the thorns Lance was starting to feel off, his head seeming strangely heavy. He rubbed his temples and took another step. Was the room swaying a little, or was he?

For all his unpleasantness, their medic was good at his job; he noticed immediately. "You okay?"

Probably not the room, then. Good. On the other hand, that meant it was him. Bad. "Uh, head's weird." He took another step and stopped, frowning at the corridor ahead. "And um, I think the path is getting narrower."

"Of course it is." The wind in the corridor was picking up a little. "Define weird."

"Just heavy…" He turned. "Why?" Jace's only response was to look at the vines and frown, a frown that was both more thoughtful and more worrying than his usual scowl. "I don't like it when your face does that."

"Your face—" Jace stopped himself. "How about we get out of here and we can make fun of each other's faces all we want, huh?" He reached into his kit, looking for something expendable and pulling out a spare surgical glove.

Lance blinked. "Uh, if that floats your boat, Doc…" He didn't think Jace was really listening. He was preoccupied waving the glove at the vines, causing one to snap around and stab its thorns straight through the synthetic. What the hell that was accomplishing, he wasn't sure… or at least, not until the vine relinquished the glove.

There were traces of thick, sickly yellow liquid left around the holes. Jace muttered some particularly vile things in Portuguese. "Poisonous."

Well, _fuck_. That news only redoubled Lance's desire to get out of this place as quickly as possible. He turned again and studied the closest vines, stepping forward, only for his legs to suddenly feel like lead. He tripped, his foot hitting one vine, his arm hitting another hanging from the ceiling, both of which seized him viciously. _"Fuck!"_

"Don't move!" Jace tried to make the jump next to him, but landed directly on top of a smaller tendril. The wind roared again… and lifted him entirely, slamming him into one of the thorny walls.

Lance yelped in new shock. "What the?!" This room needed a lot of things, and getting _even worse_ was sure as hell not one of them.

"Hey, _chill!"_ Jace yelled at the vines coiling around him, somehow more indignant than panicking. "I've got no problem with you, just trying to help the crewmate you keep fucking _stabbing!"_

Almost immediately, the vines let him go.

He hadn't been ready for that at all, and barely managed to stumble into an empty spot before staring back at the wall in confusion. "…Thanks…?"

Lance blinked, then looked at the thorns digging into his arm. "Really didn't mean to anger you," he said as calmly as he could. "Go off now, be a good vine." As he spoke he did his best to hold himself still, and one way or another it convinced the vines to retreat. He looked at Jace. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay." He checked himself over quickly. "I don't think any of them got through my clothes." Not for the first time in his career and probably not for the last, he thanked whoever had decided field jackets should be made of something stronger than plain old cotton. "What about your leg?"

"I don't think so. Just my arm."

He could _see_ they'd gotten his arm. Again. "Roll your sleeves down, dumbass." Though he was worried about more than their pilot getting his arm re-perforated. "Why'd you fall?"

Lance shook his head as he pulled his own jacket sleeves down. "No fucking clue, like my legs stopped working right. Why?" He had a feeling he knew, and the look he was getting only confirmed it. "Just fucking say it, Jace."

"…I'm gonna have to carry you." He shook his head. "Can't really mix up even a half-assed antivenom while we're in the fucking Garden of Murder here."

Damn it, that was exactly what he'd been afraid of. But he knew it was the right call… stumbling into these stupid things again would be even worse. "Fine… just do it and let's get it over with."

Stepping around a larger tendril, Jace crouched and carefully eased Lance over his shoulders. "Alright?"

"I hate my life."

"I don't _have_ to save it if you hate it that much."

Lance shifted a little, getting as comfortable as it was possible to get while being hauled unwillingly on someone else's shoulders. "Eesh, let a guy be a bit dramatic when he's poisoned!"

Jace couldn't help a grin that wasn't entirely a smirk. "Yeah, that's fair."

"Fuck." A thought that wasn't at all dramatic crossed his mind as they started through the thorns again. "It's not gonna kill me, is it?"

"Kill you? Not too likely, unless it makes you keel over into all the murder vines." Jace was going over everything he'd ever learned about poisons, despite the nagging obvious counterpoint that it might not apply to unknown alien plants. "If a paralytic that's acting this fast were gonna kill you, you'd already be suffocating or dead."

He really _was_ a cheery one, wasn't he? Lance sighed and did his best to stay still as Jace picked his way through the vines. Once he jerked away from a hanging vine and nearly fell off, forcing the medic to reach back and grab his ass to steady him. "This is so not who I fantasized about doing this…" Blink. "Crap, that was out loud, wasn't it?"

"We'll just say that was the poison, that way I'm not obligated to drop your ass."

"Good plan." They were slowing a bit, and the subject really needed changing. "So, um, do you see the path now?"

"I see open spots, anyway." It was infuriating, really. Jace prided himself on—among other things—his well-honed ability to get through the most impassable terrain. Alliance infantry training was _thorough_. Mountains, swamps, urban wastelands, no problem. But somehow they seemed to have forgotten the lesson on dealing with semi-sentient puzzle plants.

For his part, Lance wasn't seeing the floor as terrain at all. The patterns were fluid and shifting; it was like a dogfight, really, except instead of enemy fighters it was angry vines waiting to punish the slightest misstep. His head was pounding, but he kept his eyes on the path.

So far, so good…

"Stop!"

Jace froze, scowling, but not hesitating for even a moment to obey. "What's—" Even as he started to ask, a vine at his feet twisted right through where he'd been about to step. "—fuck."

"They're tricky," Lance muttered.

"Yeah." Snort. "Cool, cool. Between the two of us we're smarter than a _plant."_

"I won't tell anyone if you won't."

"Our little secret." Studying the pattern for a minute, he made the next jump much more carefully. They were getting closer to the door, but not nearly as quickly as either would've liked. "Need me to slow down?"

"Go on. Just be ready to stop when I say."

"Got it." Safe spots were getting harder to come by, and harder to safely reach without touching anything. It was slowing them down regardless of his intent.

"It's getting narrower again, but hey, the door is closer." Lance guided him through a couple more rough spots, then shifted a little and groaned. Never a good sign.

"You holding up okay? You better be holding up okay."

"I'm just peachy," Lance retorted. _My head is killing me and my body feels numb, but whatever._ "Now giddyup!"

"If the poison doesn't kill you, I fucking will," Jace grumbled as he moved on.

Lance didn't say anything, because he really didn't want to have to speak unless necessary. Breathing was still going fine, so probably still not dying, but his head felt like it might explode all over the place any second. He was just going to stay quiet unless— "—Stop!"

Jace stopped and shot him a mild glare. "What, not 'whoa boy'?"

"Too many words." He waited for his grouchy 'steed' to figure out the pattern and get moving again, but he just stood there. Not surprising, he decided as he watched the vines twist. This one was complicated, but… no, he saw it… "Just go ahead, as straight as you can and don't veer."

"Trust me, I don't want to slam you into the thorny walls any more than you want me to. Lots of fucking paperwork." His confident tone lapsed slightly as he looked at the vines. Where the hell was the safe spot? "…Just straight, here? You're sure?"

"Yes."

Jace took a deep breath, steadying himself. _Well, he's gotten us this far. No time to stop listening now, right? Right._

"But don't dawdle. Giddyup!"

First things first; he stepped forward despite not seeing the opening, and his foot hit solid ground. Second things second; he glowered at Lance as best he could. "I'm gonna have to give you shots, you know. Lots of fucking shots."

"Can't be worse than being carried. Or those fucking thorns."

"Challenge accepted." He fell silent, taking two more careful steps, trying not to get distracted by how close they were to the end now. A few more steps, and he felt the wind picking up. It was strong enough to force him to adjust against it as he approached what was damn near a wall of writhing vines.

"Don't veer."

"Not veering. I see it. I think." No, he didn't see it at all, every time he thought he had it the pattern shifted. And the wind was getting stronger still. "Oh fuck no you don't," he growled under his breath, fighting the invisible force trying to throw them back into the vines. It was taking too much of his focus now… he nodded once. He knew. They would have to get out of this together if they were going to get out at all. "Lance, tell me when."

Lance shifted slightly, eyes narrowing as he watched. He did see what was going on. Calling it a _pattern_ at all might not be right. It was as fluid and complex as combat, but if there was anyone who could read that… _there_. "Now!"

Jace sprang, practically diving into the wind with all his strength. There was no time to pause, to even check his footing. As soon as he touched down he jumped again, just hoping he wouldn't feel a vine dragging him back. One tried, swishing through right behind his foot, and he landed heavily on clear, solid ground.

The wind stopped.

"Shit…"

"Fuck yeah! That's how you do… whatever that was."

"Gauntlet of the Murder Garden." Jace breathed deeply, letting the adrenaline calm. "I think it's a B movie." He helped Lance off his shoulders as quickly as was safe, leaning him back against the gloriously thorn-free wall.

"I feel weird."

"You're fucking poisoned." The medic started digging in his bag again, pulling out the glove, two small vials, and a pouch of clear liquid. "You're supposed to feel weird."

Lance stirred feebly and grimaced. "Plants are evil, that is the life lesson here."

"Can't argue with the logic." Jace managed to wring a couple of drops of the poison into one vial, then added some of the clear liquid and waited. Toxin-reactive synthetic was the closest human technology had yet come to creating a universal antivenom; it wasn't very good at its job, but better than nothing. As the liquid in the vial turned greenish, he poured it into a syringe and injected it into Lance's shoulder. "This should at least take the edge off."

Taking the edge off sounded fantastic. Lance closed his eyes for a moment, willing it to kick in. "Think everyone else is okay, or did they fall into murder gauntlets too?"

"Oh we _better_ not be the only ones blessed with a murder gauntlet." His voice lowered slightly as he packed his kit back up. "…And they better fucking be okay."

Lance eyed him, but decided not to comment on Jace sounding marginally human. "Argh. I guess…" Sigh. "…I guess we should open the door?"

"Unless you want to hang around and do some more dances with plants."

"Fuck no." He looked at the door beside him. "Just, you know, hope there isn't another murder garden behind it."

"Don't even _say_ that. The plants might hear you." Jace stood and pushed the door open a crack, half expecting a blast of wind or thorns or some shit to slam into him. Instead he saw what initially looked like an empty room tiled in gray stone… then color and motion caught his eye.

"What's the verdict?" Lance half-crawled to the door and looked around it himself; his jaw dropped.

"What the hell happened to _you_ two?"

*****

Keith had just barely managed to twist around mid-fall and land on his backside rather than his face. Still, it was a rough landing. "Kuso…" He rolled away from where he'd fallen, acting on some instinct. A few seconds later that instinct was vindicated as Hunk hit the ground in a heap next to him.

"Owww…"

"Garrett? You okay?"

"Uh… I think so. What happened?" Hunk sat up and winced, then looked around the room; his eyes widened. "Uh, boss? Where _are_ we?"

"To answer both your questions, I have no idea. I hope the others are okay…"

"Yeah, here's hopin'." He shook his head slowly. "Guess we better get outta here and find out, yeah?" He was still looking past his commander with an expression of confused worry. Keith sat up slowly, following Hunk's gaze. And what he saw was beyond bizarre.

They were in a high, arching corridor tiled with deep blue stone. After about ten feet, the floor gave way to water, rippling softly and reflecting the room's eerie light. The light was coming from the room's most striking feature: silvery coral rising up from the water and crawling up the walls, making the whole corridor look something like a underwater cave. The coral even crept along the ceiling, bordering a series of panels covered in nonsensical jagged lines.

There was something behind them, too. The blue rune from the other room was embedded here at the end of the corridor, as a mosaic of broken seashells. It was beautiful, though the sense of eyes watching them was even more pronounced… and creepy.

"Well, if we get thirsty I guess we'll be okay?"

"Ugh. I ain't drinkin' the creepy alien water, Doc hates me enough as it is."

Keith couldn't help a soft chuckle. "I think Doc hates everybody."

"Well yeah, there's that." Hunk looked up at the patterns on the ceiling, shaking his head again.

Hard to blame him. "Such a strange design, don't you think?"

"Nah, not strange at all," the big man retorted immediately. "Early 22nd-century Atlantis."

Keith snorted, though he supposed he'd asked for that. The room was pretty, even relaxing in a strange way… the cool scent of the water, the sound of it rippling through the pool, the gentle glow of the coral gleaming on its surface. But they couldn't stay and enjoy it. Work to do. "So, any ideas? I'm not seeing a door."

Hunk frowned, looking out over the water. "There's somethin' on the far wall. Can you make it out?" Keith turned, squinting, and saw what he seemed to be referring to… a discoloration, maybe an engraving of some sort, but he really couldn't tell any details. "Don't suppose you brought the binoculars for inside a creepy old bunker thing?"

"No. I didn't." He shot Hunk a mildly vengeful look. It had to have been one of the engineers who'd actually pulled the footage, and he was still— _priorities, Kogane. Get out of this first._

From the blush that spread over Hunk's face, it was pretty clear which engineer it had been. "Heh… didn't… think so."

Keith put it aside. "Well, we'll just have to get over there and find out." The reflective surface of the water made it nigh-impossible to tell how deep it was, and he didn't really want to have to swim if it could be at all avoided. His pack was waterproof, but it would still get heavy. Looking the coral, he noticed it seemed to form handholds along both the walls and ceiling. Or was he imagining it?

Looking at Hunk, he saw the big man looking back at the seashell mosaic again. "Gotta mean somethin', right? I'm guessin' the last ones we said that about meant 'hold onto your ass'."

"Yeah." He came to his conclusion, turning to the water. May as well at least test its depth. After that, they could determine the most effective way of getting across. He dipped his foot in cautiously, and grimaced; a faint chill sank in right through his boot. "Good grief, it's cold." But to his surprise, he hit the bottom quickly. The water was only about ankle deep. Maybe the natives had less tolerance for—

"—Uh, boss?"

A soft hissing sound was rising up around them, and he could hear a distant echo of running water. "That can't be good…" He'd barely finished speaking when misty jets of water started spraying from the coral.

"That _definitely_ ain't good."

Eyes narrowing, Keith ran the length of the corridor to the discoloration they'd seen. The good news was, it was a door. The bad news was, it flatly refused to open. That wasn't any help at all, but… he paused, looking back at the water he'd run through. Where he'd disturbed it he could see through the reflective surface, to glimmers of blue in the sand. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Hunk had stepped into the water, but stopped when Keith started back.

"I think there's something under the water…" It was already almost to the tops of his boots. He dropped to his knees with a sharp gasp—even knowing it was cold, he hadn't been prepared for _how_ cold—no time to stop, no time to think about it. He took a deep breath and lowered his face into the water, and he could see it perfectly. "It's the rune on the wall there," he declared, standing and tossing his pack next to the door. "But it's like it's missing something, missing pieces…"

Hunk was staring at him in disbelief. Then slowly his eyes raised to the ceiling. "Boss, I kinda hate to ask this, but… the missing parts… they're not up _there_ , are they?"

Keith looked up, shivering, then looked beneath the water again before surfacing and looking back to the ceiling. "Son of a… what the hell are they doing up there?"

"Nothin' good." Hunk had retreated from the water; he was looking at the coral. What was going on in here suddenly seemed clear… and kind of sadistic.

"Okay." No time to panic. No time to even worry without panicking. "I'll stay here in the water. You climb up there and toss me what I need."

"Um." Hunk gave the coral a skeptical look. It wasn't exactly delicate, but it didn't look all that sturdy either; if it couldn't hold his weight they'd be in even _more_ trouble. Not to mention that put the boss swimming around in freezing water, which seemed like the more dangerous part by far. "Maybe I should—"

"— _Move_ , Garrett, unless you want a watery grave."

_Okay then!_ "I'm movin', I'm movin'! But if this stuff breaks, I warned you." He started clambering up the coral. The lower handholds were slick with water, but as he got higher that lessened. Small favors. But as he reached the top he realized a minor issue with this plan; there were handholds all along the ceiling, but nowhere to actually stand. "Okay, boss… whatcha need? Please tell me it's close to me."

Keith plunged his head into the water again, stirring up some silt that briefly blocked out the puzzle. _Shit, it clouds up easily._ Then he winced at his own thoughts. _Dammit, McClain is rubbing off on me_. He took stock of the puzzle as the silt settled, then surfaced. "Okay… first, I think that one three pieces over from where your left hand is, the next one, and the one two above that."

That wasn't so bad, at least. Hunk slung his own pack on one of the handholds, took a deep breath, and started to carefully make his way to the pieces the boss had asked for. It was like crossing some kind of weird coral monkey bars… and he'd always hated monkey bars.

The pieces were easy enough to detach, coming free with a slight twist. They felt a bit like vulcanized rubber, which seemed _very_ unlikely. No time to worry about material composition. He looked down… and immediately regretted it. "Oh hell." The piece dropped from his hand as he grabbed for the nearest handhold in a panic that had little to do with trying to carry his weight. "Should _not_ have looked down!"

The piece splashed into the water, and Keith retrieved it as quickly as he could, slipping on the wet rock below and wincing. "I need the others!"

Hunk was now pointedly staring up, trying to pretend he wasn't twenty feet in the air on the monkey bars from hell. _It's just water down there anyway, nothing to panic about. Nothing to panic about._ He nearly fumbled the next piece, but managed to retrieve the two. "Whenever you're ready, boss," he called down without looking.

"Go ahead and drop it."

"Bombs away!"

This time Keith was in position to catch the pieces; the water was nearly up to his neck when he knelt. The water was clouded up again, he could feel the sand around his fingers, and waited a few moments before ducking his head under and setting the pieces into place. They clicked in easily.

"Okay," he called out as he surfaced again. He had to stand now. Was the water rising faster? He directed Hunk to a few more pieces, receiving them without incident, but it was getting harder and harder to dive down and fit them in through the clouded water.

No, no thinking like that. They just had to keep going.

Hunk's arms were starting to ache as he continued retrieving pieces. This was more hardcore than any Alliance conditioning test had ever dreamed of being. To make matters worse, the pieces he had to pull down kept getting further apart…

"The one at the other end, the solid blue one."

Oh, great. "Workin' on it."

"Take your time." Hopefully not too much of it, but there was no point pressuring him, either. Keith dove to put in the other pieces he was holding, fighting through the cloudy water that was getting worse and worse. And it was so damn _cold_. It was slowing him down, making it more difficult to get the pieces into place.

With a sigh of relief Hunk reached the blue piece and tossed it down without incident. As Keith called the next few, he even relaxed a little. But as he reached the last piece in the new batch, his arm twisted awkwardly.

Bad. Bad bad bad. "Look out below!" he bellowed as he tore the piece free, tumbling into the icy water.

Keith had been trying to fit one of the pieces in, and hadn't heard Hunk's yell at all. They were nearly finished, and they couldn't get out of here fast enough; his hands were so numb they ached. Right as the new piece snapped in he felt the water shift violently. _What…?_ A wave of sand and dirt washed over him and the puzzle, blotting everything out. He struggled to the surface, coughing and choking with silt stinging his eyes.

Now he could hear Hunk yelling from what seemed like much too close. _"Dude!_ Cold, cold, cold, brr, _cold!"_

"You alright?" He couldn't actually see yet.

_"No."_

"What happened?"

Hunk had scrambled back up onto the coral, shivering and soaked. Numb hands and wet clothes weren't going to make this any easier. But he thought better of complaining any more about it—the boss had it worse. And it wasn't like they had a choice in the matter. "Uh, nothin' happened. Totes cool up here. What's next?"

"Hold on. I have to let the water clear enough that I can see it." Keith was treading water and fighting exhaustion, though his sight was at least returning to him as he blinked the silt away. He saw the piece Hunk had retrieved floating next to him and took it, then dove back under the surface.

It seemed like he was down there forever.

"Dude, get back up here," Hunk whispered to the water. He started climbing back up, trying to focus on the coral and not on Keith under the icy water. His wet hands were making it incredibly slippery, and he lost his grip a few times; he also managed to knock his pack into the water, which he was certain he'd regret later. "Come on…"

Keith's head burst out of the water. "I need… that one…" he gasped through chattering teeth. "In the middle… last piece."

"On it!" Hunk swung back along the coral carefully, gripping each handhold with both hands. _Last piece._ They could do this. _Last piece._ His arms might fall off once they had it. _Last piece._ He reached it and braced himself, twisting it and letting it fall, then returning to clinging to the handhold with all his might.

He wasn't stable at all. But he couldn't fall, it would mess the water up again… he watched Keith dive after the piece, and held his breath. _Come on, boss…_

The last piece had fallen just through Keith's frozen hands. At least following it was easy, his clothes were like icy weights dragging him down. He could just barely see it glinting through the sand, and shoved it into the puzzle with all his fading strength. It didn't want to go. _Almost there… go in, dammit!_ There must be sand blocking the mechanism. He blindly waved his hand in the slot, lungs burning. _Come on, clear up…_

A sharp _snap_ rewarded his efforts. He had a split second to register the puzzle was glowing faintly through the silt, but there was no time to stay and watch. He had to get back to the surface. He wasn't sure he was going to make it.

He wasn't going to make it…

Clinging to the coral, Hunk heard a distant _thump_. Then a rush of water, almost like a drain. Before he could even consciously register the water level lowering, his grip gave out, and for the second time he splashed down hard into the icy water.

Scrambling to the surface, he saw a mess of dark hair rise up next to him. "Oh, hell." The boss was floating limply, eyes closed. Hunk grabbed him and kept his head above the water—not much else he _could_ do as the room drained—and made an attempt to check for a pulse, but his numb fingers couldn't feel enough to find one. "Dude, you'd better not need CPR," he muttered. "Doc'll _really_ hate me if I break your ribs."

It only took half a minute or so for Keith to come to, coughing and sputtering as he felt the air flowing back into his lungs. He was shivering uncontrollably, and only vaguely aware of someone else, almost as cold as he was, holding him up. _Holy…_

"Yo! Welcome back, boss!"

Everything rushed back in an instant, and he groaned. "D-d-did…" He paused, trying to get his chattering teeth under control. Biting his tongue off wouldn't help anything. "Did… it… work?"

"Uh… the water's goin' down, anyway." Hunk could feel his muscles seizing up the longer they stayed in the water, and wondered how the hell the boss had managed as long as he had. "Not sure about the door? Be able to check in another minute or so."

"G… good." Keith curled up as best he could, though trying to preserve body heat in these circumstances was pretty well futile.

Finally, the landing by the door drained. Hunk dragged the boss with him and crawled onto solid ground, shivering himself. "Dude…"

Keith groaned, staring blankly at the ceiling. There were still plenty of pieces up there. It would have been so easy to get distracted, confused, lost in the cold. "Worst… m-mission… ev-ver…"

"Ain't wrong," Hunk agreed, crawling to the door and pushing on it as hard as he could. To his surprise, it swung open without any incident at all. He tossed Keith's soaked pack through then turned back to the boss himself, who was crawling after him.

"…Splo… sives…?"

Not even Hunk had been in any shape to think about bombs right now. He looked back out at the water, where his own pack was sitting serenely a couple of feet from the landing. "Uh, they're hangin' out in the pool. I'll get 'em when I can feel my feet again."

"Hope d-door don't… shut," Keith managed to force out in response. Even his brain felt frozen. What he was _absolutely_ certain of was that he wanted to get the hell out of this room, away from the arctic water, and never look back again.

Suddenly, a pair of infantry boots appeared in the doorway. He didn't have the energy to look up and see who it was, but that was okay; the owner of the boots promptly identified himself.

"And what the fuck happened to _you two?!"_

"N… nice t-to see you t-too, Doc…"

*****

Well _that_ had escalated quickly.

Lance hadn't even had time to take in Sven and Flynn's conditions when the next door swung open, and he followed Jace over to investigate. "Are you two wet?" he asked blankly.

"Bone dry, bro." Hunk crawled over the threshold and shook his hair out wildly, sending water flying everywhere.

Snickering, he glanced over at Flynn, who was also biting back laughter. Then he blinked. "You look singed?"

The engineer glowered. "Only a little."

"Trade you being poisoned."

"You got _what?"_

Lance held up his bandaged arm. "Fucking poisonous vines."

As they spoke, Keith half crawled, half rolled through the door. He dragged himself into sitting up against the wall next to a shaky Sven, who was standing there eyeing Lance and Flynn and keeping his opinions to himself. He'd _much_ rather be poisoned than electrocuted again. Jace looked around the room and gave an exasperated sigh, then started unpacking his kit… again.

"J-just… don't g-go in there… ice water…"

Flynn glanced at his scorched jacket and the burns he knew well were beneath it. "Ice water sounds wonderful—"

"—don't you _fucking dare_ , you do not put _ice water_ on burns!—"

"—I know that!" He scowled at Jace, who threw a cooling pack at him. All he'd said was it _sounded_ wonderful. The cooling pack seemed just as wonderful, at least; he shrugged out of his jacket and pressed the pack to the worst of the burns, gritting his teeth against the chill.

Hunk was taking in everyone else's conditions, and shook his head. "This stuff looks like so much more fun when Indy's the one doin' it."

"No shit," Lance agreed. "Never looking at that movie the same… Viking?" Sven had just given a particularly noticeable twitch. "You good?"

The navigator slid down the wall and sat, steadying a little. "Better," he said quietly.

Jace had damn near emptied his kit onto the floor. He'd snapped open every cooling pack he had; he delivered two to Sven and another to Flynn as he waited for the warming blankets to charge. He had a lot of opinions on the sorry state of _everyone here_ … but medic time was now, swearing time was later. He delivered one of the blankets to Hunk, who cuddled with it gratefully, then moved on to the boss.

Keith had closed his eyes, and was right on the verge of sleep. He was exhausted, relieved, and—he startled as a blanket was draped over his shoulders, warmth beginning to pulse into his muscles immediately. "Thanks… d-doc."

"Welcome." Sleepy and possibly disoriented, that was worrying. "You hurt anywhere or just cold?"

"J-just… fucking… c-cold… and sleepy."

Lance's eyes widened. "Boss, did you just say—"

"—Watch your language!" Sven snapped, not even caring that it was his commander. He was annoyed at everything right now. Annoyed that he couldn't stop the shakes, annoyed that he hurt all over, annoyed that people were being loud, and pretty much annoyed that Sorthal even existed.

"Well fuck me, he's got brain damage," Lance declared, ignoring Sven. "Jace, check his head."

"Yeah, no kidding." Jace grabbed a light and shone it into Keith's eyes, watching the pupils contract—first from the light, then from the death glare.

"S-stop… that… shit…"

"Are you trying to convince me you _don't_ have brain damage? Because that's not how you do it."

Keith fell silent and just kept glaring, or tried to. He was shivering too much to really maintain a glare. Though he did manage to shoot a brief one at Flynn, who was snickering. All of that irritation evaporated when Jace wrapped another, larger warming blanket around him; his whole body still ached from cold, and the new pulses of heat were like heaven.

"No headache? You're sure?"

"Y… yes. I'm s-sure. Wasn't out… very long."

"Couldn't have been more than a minute," Hunk agreed as Jace shot him a sharp look.

"…Okay. You're not showing any signs of a head injury, but I'm going to be keeping an eye on you." He moved on to the others; Flynn and Sven's burns were nasty-looking but not too deep, Hunk seemed a lot less hypothermic than Keith, and Lance, well, he was _acutely_ acquainted with Lance's problems.

"You seem pretty intact, Doc," Hunk observed. "Can you grab my bombs?" The medic gave him a disbelieving look, but nodded and went back through the door to the water room.

"Yeah," Lance snorted as he left, "the forest of doom liked his ass. Go figure."

"Forests of doom are known to have strange taste."

"Very strange."

"The strangest."

"Oh, fuck you. All of you." Jace glowered around the room as he returned and dumped the bag next to Hunk, then dropped to the floor; his legs and shoulders were aching a bit from having to haul Lance through the forest of doom in question. Seeing the water room only intensified his annoyance at, well, everything. "What the fuck is with this place?"

"Language!"

"Viking, if the boss can say fuck, so can I."

"Like him not saying it has ever stopped you before," Flynn muttered, drawing a grin from Lance. Jace opted not to fire back at that. As things settled down and the adrenaline faded, an exhausted silence fell over the team.

Briefly.

They were starting to look around where they'd actually ended up. It was… a room. Just a room. An empty gray chamber with five doors in one wall—the ones leading to the murder gauntlets—and one larger one opposite them. There was light coming from above, though no light bulbs or windows were visible. This place remained _weird_.

"Oh hey, look," Hunk muttered under his breath. "Another door."

"I think we're in a fucking video game," Lance grumbled, drawing an irritated sigh from Sven. "And if the fucking Galra find this place I hope the plants eat them, and those other rooms drown and zap them."

"Seems likely," Flynn murmured. "I wonder what the other two symbols were."

Hunk shot him a look of disbelief, and he wasn't the only one. "I _don't."_

"I'm with the big guy, rather not know." Looking around the empty room of weirdness—everything in here was weird—Lance finally settled his gaze on the exit. "So, I guess we open the door?"

"I'm not opening any more doors," Sven said quickly.

"Not looking forward to it, Viking." If there had been any other way to go from here than opening another weird door, Lance would happily have taken it. Options seemed in short supply, that was all. "Jace, you do it, you're not wounded."

That earned him a disapproving look from the medic that, in comparison to his usual disapproving looks, seemed somehow unusually businesslike. "I'm not opening anything yet. You people need rest."

Nobody seemed all that inclined to argue with him, mostly because nobody really wanted to open the door. Hunk was the only one who offered even a mild contradiction, and he was just thinking out loud. "Gotta be somethin' cool back there, right? After all we just went through?"

"Maybe it's a note that says 'ha ha, suckers'." Scowl. "Wouldn't put it past this place. Now rest."

"We'll rest… on the ship." Keith came to his decision and stood carefully, still wrapped up in the blankets. Even his thoughts still felt a bit numb from the cold, but his strength was returning enough to move, at least. Staying here in the middle of nowhere wasn't going to help anything. "We need to finish and get out of here." Before Jace could stop him, he stepped up to the door and gave it a halfhearted push.

The door slid open, and a blinding mix of light and brilliant color forced them all to step back a moment.

"Holy fuck."

"Definitely somethin' cool."

"Faex."

"Wow…"

Lance blinked back afterimages as they stepped into the next room, his eyes slowly adjusting. His brain was not adjusting. "I need a word weirder than weird." A round of nods answered him as the team fanned out. It was all that really fit…

The room was a single immense pentagon, but it was anything but unified. Each wall was a different color of glossy enamel; the wall at their backs was black, with red, blue, yellow, and green on the others. The floor was tiled in the same colors, splitting the room into five colored wedges that all converged at a curious shrine in the center: a pillar holding five roughly foot-high statuettes, some sort of large cats carved from gemstones in the corresponding colors. The backs of the five cats formed a makeshift stand, bearing a brilliant clear crystal the size of a basketball that shimmered with millions of rainbows from within.

Each wedge had certain common features—low benches, what may have been altars, murals of great cats engraved into the walls. But beyond that they were strikingly different, and it made the room nearly overwhelming.

"Split up," Keith ordered finally. "Document everything."

Hunk took the yellow section, immediately noting that the floor was textured like sand. The others hadn't been like that. There were piles of gemstones in varying shades of brown and gold stacked around, but also chunks of what seemed like ordinary stone—heck, someone had dragged a three foot _boulder_ in here. There were glyphs chiseled into the boulder, probably writing. It took some coaxing to get his allegedly waterproof datapad started up, but he managed to get some pictures. The rocks and gems he left alone. Plundering the place that way just didn't seem right, somehow.

Sven was immediately drawn to the blue section of the room. The floor was smooth, made up of different shades of blue all swirling together in some sort of whirlpool pattern. He made sure to take a picture of it before forcing himself to look away from the floor and up to the wall. The wall itself was plain, but the two waist high pearl colored pillars that were up against it were beautiful. Each had a dark blue bowl on top of it. Both bowls had an odd tentacled creature etched onto them. Sven walked up to them and looked into one of the bowls. There was a ringed water stain wrapped around the inside of the bowl, like there had been stagnant water in there for awhile. Taking a few steps back he made sure to get pictures of everything.

Jace stepped into the green section almost despite himself; its most distinctive feature was more damn _vines_. But these weren't covered in thorns, and definitely weren't alive. Rather they were woven of smooth fiber, decorated with flowers carved from something that felt like wax. There were real flowers, too, long dead but still recognizable, planted in several vases that looked like swirls of glass. He thought of the wind from the murder garden as he ran a finger along one, and tried his hardest not to wonder.

Lance found himself standing on smooth red rock. He walked forward, hand going against the matching wall. It was cold and he felt a wave of disappointment, the memory of the red metal had been playing in his mind. Shaking his head, he pulled out his camera. Black vases were on a shelf, with what looked some sort of lizard carved onto them, and inside it looked to be ash. Once again he found the word _weird_ repeating in his mind.

Keith stood in front of the small altar by the black wall. He stared at the delicate little pieces of glass there. Fulgurite, if he remembered correctly. He picked up a very intricate piece, studying it, then sighed and set it back down. Whatever this was, it meant something, but his brain was still numb from his time in the water. He managed to dig out a datapad and snapped some pictures before dropping it back into the pack he’d gotten it from.

Flynn had gone straight to the crystal in the center, and not just because it was the obvious focal point. Something about the crystal's structure, the way it seemed to have infinite facets and tiny silver flecks within it, was tugging insistently at his memory. It meant something more than the obvious, he was certain.

"What do you make of it?" Keith asked quietly, walking up to him.

"I've seen something like this before. Give me a minute…" His second closed his eyes.

"Photographic memory?"

"No, just too bright in here to think." Nearly as soon as he said it his eyes flashed open. "…It's data storage. Crystal matrix formats are native to this sector."

Data storage? Keith looked back at the crystal. "That's… a lot of storage."

"That's an _assload_ of storage," Lance agreed, walking over from the red section.

The others were converging too, and Hunk chuckled slightly. "Kinda puts weird metal scraps into perspective, yeah?" In truth he was talking about more than just the crystal… though it definitely applied to the crystal.

"If it's data at least that's, you know, something… concrete, maybe?" Lance circled around the crystal, frowning. "Instead of weird whatever."

Keith blinked, trying to follow the logic, and didn't think it was only his exhaustion preventing it. "But what if what's on it is just… weirder?"

"Who leaves a few exabytes of _normal_ data sitting around in a temple full of deathtraps?" Flynn pointed out, drawing a few snickers. "Of course it's going to be weirder."

"Probably is." Lance shrugged. "But if it's what _they_ want we should have it."

That, at least, was absolutely true. Keith studied the crystal warily. "Is it safe to just… pull it and go?"

"Has anything in here been safe yet?" Jace retorted. "I'll get it, I'm the only one here who's healthy enough to haul the bags, anyway."

Sven stayed quiet, though he really didn't think this was a good idea. He remembered all too well what had come of Flynn just taking the key back in the lightning room. Clearly Flynn remembered too, because he looked around with concern. "Should we maybe know where the exit is first? Just in case."

"Yeah, I uh, agree with that."

"Don't make sense, pit boss. This place ain't about sense."

"Let's do that."

Keith closed his eyes and nodded, quietly irked with himself. He should have thought of that. They really needed to get out of here; he wanted his full mental function back, and it felt like that was going to take his bed and about fifty blankets. He watched the others scatter, searching. "Anyone see anything?" he asked as they started trailing back.

Their expressions made the answer pretty clear. "No, nothing."

Wonderful. "Well, we've got Garrett's explosives. We can always just… make a hole."

"Uh, about that…" The big man grimaced. "They're wet. They ain't waterproof." Even _better_ , and he didn't even have the decency to be done delivering bad news. "I uh, kinda hate to say this… and I dunno about the rest of you… but our door didn't open up until we figured out the puzzle."

"A puzzle?"

"Oh, you guys had a _puzzle_. Lucky you."

"We didn't have a puzzle. More like a… I don't know. There was lightning. It was painful."

"Ours was under the freezing water. And the pieces were on the ceiling." That shut them up. Keith eyed Hunk doubtfully. "So what, maybe a door will just magically open up if we take it?"

"Yeah, because weird just works with you like that."

"That's not actually the craziest thing that's happened today."

"Weird-ass temple…" Jace shook his head and looked at the boss. "Okay, if you tell me to grab this thing I'll grab it. And then I guess we'll fucking wing it."

What else could they do? "Take it. And everyone keep your eyes open."

"Going on the record," Lance muttered, "this is a bad idea. The only fucking idea, but a bad idea."

"We have a lot of bad ideas," Hunk commented lightly.

"Point."

Sven made a face. "We are an Explorer Team…"

"…and isn't that what Explorer Teams are for?" Keith finished.

Jace snorted. "Isn't _that_ the truth." He stepped up and took the crystal, holding his breath despite himself. It was much heavier than he'd expected even a basketball-sized chunk of stone to be; he damn near dropped it. As he fumbled to recover he fully expected something horrible to happen, but for a very long second there was only silence.

The cat statues hummed softly. As if relieved to no longer be carrying the crystal, they straightened, a series of sharp _clicks_ emanating from beneath them. A roar that sounded vaguely like a lion filled the room.

Dust started raining down. The roar was continuing—no, it was a new sound echoing over them now. It didn't sound like an animal at all anymore.

_"Fuck."_

The ceiling was lowering.

"Didn't we just watch a movie about this?" Flynn muttered under his breath, and despite it all Lance grinned.

"Hell yeah we did."

Sven glanced over at them. Somehow he was pretty sure was missing a reference here, but… "Any ideas on how we make it stop?"

For a moment they all just looked desperately around the room, then Keith caught sight of something new. "Hey, where did those little alcoves come from?" New indentations had opened up on each point of the room, revealing what looked like small shrines. Or had they always been there? He wasn't sure how much to trust his mind right now.

Flynn's eyes narrowed. "They must have opened up after…" He trailed off, looking at the cat statues, then back at the alcoves.

Lance followed his gaze. "What are you thinking?"

It was Hunk who managed to put it into action first. "These clicked," he said quietly, reaching for the golden cat. He twisted the statuette slightly, and with a soft _pop_ it came free of the pedestal.

The others stared at him, wide-eyed, then all sprang into action at once. Lance reached for the red one, pulling it out just as easily. Keith reached for whichever was closest, ending up with the black one. Sven removed the blue one; the green one seemed to stick slightly as Flynn twisted it, but another tug and he was able to pull it free.

"Okay. Fan out." Keith took a deep breath, adrenaline surging again. "Figure out which spot these go in, because you know it can't be simple."

"Course not."

"Yes sir."

Each of them ran for the wall of their statuette's color. Hunk and Flynn exchanged glances and both ran for the corner between green and yellow; surely _one_ of theirs would have to fit.

Keith reached the green corner of the black wall, but before even attempting to place his statuette on the shrine something caught his eye. "Holy shit…" He didn't need rest or warmth to identify the sigil carved into the shrine. _This symbol_. It was the same one he'd had to assemble in the water hell room. Only there it had been… "Holgersson! You have the blue one, right?"

"Yes sir! Why?"

Between the red and blue walls, Lance was having a similar experience. The tree-arrow rune was carved into the shrine. _No, that was the garden of murder._ Something prickled down the back of his neck and he turned, staring at the wall across from him.

Green.

"…Opposite walls!" he yelled, turning to the corner across from the red.

"McClain is right! Move, people!"

Sven had made it to the shrine between yellow and blue; the jagged rune that had preceded the lightning room was there. Flynn and Hunk had just finished figuring out that neither of their cats fit on the shrine they were at, despite what seemed logical. It clicked for all three at once. "Of course…"

The ceiling was more than halfway down as they all sprinted across the room. Hunk was already having to duck as he ran. Lance could still feel vestiges of the poison, he was stumbling, but managed to keep his footing until he half fell against the red shrine and slid the red cat in.

A soft growl sounded from the shrine. Around the room, a series of similar growls echoed as the others slammed their cats into place. With another distant rumble, the ceiling stopped moving.

Silence fell.

Definitely better than ceilings falling.

"Uh… we alive?" Lance was breathing harshly, his head throbbing. Maybe it was more than just _vestiges_ of the poison still bothering him.

"Dude…"

"It looks like a good sign?"

"Porra." Jace leaned back against the empty crystal pedestal, looking around. Hunk was leaning over his shrine, since he didn't have much choice. Flynn had his head tilted back, and was staring at the ceiling less than an inch from his face with a mildly disconcerted expression. Sven was also ducking a bit at his shrine, though he didn't have any real need to be; Keith and Lance were both slumped over theirs, looking pained.

"Fuck me… I said I wanted to be Han Solo when I grew up, not Indiana Jones."

"You liked the trash compactor."

"Harrison Ford is Harrison Ford, bro."

Lance eyed Hunk and managed a grin. "That is a good fucking point."

"What the hell are you people talking about?" Jace demanded, though he didn't expect or really actually want an answer. Sven looked over at him and shrugged.

"Gonna need another movie night," Hunk muttered.

"And beer."

"Let's prioritize the beer." As Flynn spoke, the ceiling started rising back up, except for a central disc that descended around the crystal pedestal. It had a complicated series of chains that seemed to be guiding it down.

The team exchanged curious looks. "A fucking ancient elevator?"

"Well, an exit is an exit, right?"

"Totally."

They crowded onto the platform, and a sorry lot they still were. Lance swayed a bit and nearly fell off until Flynn reached out to steady him, earning a grateful smile. Keith and Sven had subconsciously ended up standing very close to each other, as if hoping their heat might equalize. Jace, true to what he'd said earlier, was loaded down with every bag they'd brought… still better than having to carry Lance, though. Hunk was still shivering, but it was left to him to find the operating mechanism, a switch set into the pedestal.

"Goin' up!"

With a screeching lurch that didn't exactly inspire confidence, the elevator carried them into another small, empty room… and a door slid open, revealing the overgrown complex and the covered _Firecrown_ in the distance.

It seemed like all of them breathed a sigh of relief at once.

"Home sweet home…"

"Thank _god."_

Slowly, somewhat painfully, they all trooped back to the ship. Maybe calling it home was a bit of an exaggeration; they still had a long trip back to Earth ahead of them. But their mission—ill-defined, unpredictable, and straight up insane as it was—was accomplished.

*****

"Where is she?!"

It had taken the royal seamstress nearly a month, but the dress was finally complete. A true masterwork, befitting the debut of a proper princess: flowing layers of blue and violet silk, intricate patterns woven in golden thread, feathery winglike armlets just below the bare sleeves that represented a woman ready for courting. A long train of shimmering golden gauze had a similar wing pattern, ethereal and angelic. It was, the seamstress said, one of the finest pieces she'd ever produced.

And it was sitting idle on the dress form, because the person meant to be trying it on was nowhere to be found.

"Well?" Nanny marched down the line of castle staff—three housemaids, two footmen, and a chef's apprentice who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time—and glowered. "I said where is she?!"

Mendar shrugged helplessly, speaking for the whole assemblage. They'd checked everywhere in the castle a pseudo-princess might be expected to be found, and a few others besides. "Nowhere we've been able to find her, Lady Hys."

"Well then why are you _here?"_ She picked up the nearest convenient implement, in this case a feather duster, and swatted him with it. "Go and do your duty!"

Immediately they scattered. Most of them were, in fact, going to do their duty… though the chef's apprentice decided to risk her actual duty, sneaking back into the kitchen as soon as she was out of range. It was the apprentice that Allura noted as she was passing by the kitchen, and she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. She knew the look of someone dodging an angry Nanny.

It didn't take long to find her. "Nanny, what's going on?" As soon as the question left her lips, she caught sight of what the governess was glaring at, and could guess. "Is that Larmina's dress? It's gorgeous."

"Ach, Princess!" Nanny jumped like a startled roli and darted in front of the dress form. "Yes it is, and you shouldn't be seeing it until her debut, you know that! Bad luck! Of course _everything_ with that hellion is bad luck! She ought to have been here an _hour_ ago, and…"

Though she didn't outwardly show it, Allura tuned the rant out. Nanny would be mortified when she wound down and remembered who she was speaking to. Besides, she had a sneaking suspicion this was a problem she could solve…

*****

Earlier that morning, Larmina had received a 'care package' from the Seven Isles. It wasn't the first one she'd gotten—her mother had been sending her small packages weekly. Usually they contained a letter, some of her favorite cinnamon pretzel knots, and a fresh fairy lily from the manor gardens. It had taken a few letters worth of negotiating, but this package had included something new. A bottle of Syrah Kepacha, one of the Seven Isles' finest red wines.

Danor had been _delighted_.

Now she was sitting on an old rusty crate, eagerly clinging to the royal mechanic's every word as he walked her through the maintenance of a portable comm array. It was _way_ more interesting than ballroom dancing or protocol lessons.

"Most important thing is to make sure the resonance filter is sealed properly. If even a little dust gets in, the audio quality starts to drop." He shook his head. "Don't sound like much, but one garbled syllable can be the difference between a shipment of bananas and a shipment of bandanas, and then where's your fruit salad at?"

Larmina giggled; she wondered if that example came from personal experience. "Triple check the filter seal, got it."

"Why don't you try this one?" He handed her another of the comm arrays with an encouraging grin. "See how well you've got it."

Oh. She hesitated a moment before taking the device, her eyes flickering up to Danor. Finishing school had taught her to be wary of being singled out, but this was different, wasn't it? There was no class of boring noblebrats waiting to see her used as a bad example. Just a wholly sincere royal mechanic grinning as she accepted the array.

_Okay, so…_ she picked up a screwdriver and carefully opened up the main compartment, tightening a few bolts and replacing a couple of worn wires. It was tricky work—her fingers slipped several times—and once the sharp end of a wire pierced her thumb like a needle.

"Ow!"

"All right there?" Danor had her hand before she could protest that of _course_ she was fine, looking over the wound and the small droplet of blood bubbling from it. "Ah, there's your first workshop badge of honor!" Again without giving her a chance to argue, he dabbed the blood off and applied some wound sealant. "Good as new!"

For a moment Larmina was starkly aware that the only person who'd ever tended her wounds before was her mother. The Castle of Lions seemed so cold and harsh. The workshop was… warm… the thoughts weren't helpful and she shook them aside. "Thanks," she whispered, returning her attention to the work.

It took a few minutes, and the vacuum sealer was hard to handle, but finally she thought she had it. The resonance chamber snapped shut, sealing itself, and she carefully screwed the access panel back into place on top of it.

Was that it? She thought that was it. "How's this?"

Grin. "How is it? Give it a test."

Biting her lip nervously, Larmina flipped the test switch. A clear note rang out from the speaker. She held her breath, waiting for it to waver or crackle, but it remained strong and steady until it faded gently away.

Danor clapped. "Very nice! You may just be a natural."

_Really? Am I?_

It felt good… not just getting the lesson right, though that _was_ also a nice change of pace. But the task itself was satisfying. It was careful and precise, but it was _productive_. It wasn't just jumping through hoops to avoid offending some stuffy old noble. She'd taken something, something useful, and actually made it better.

The warmth and excitement of success lasted about until she looked up, and caught a flash of golden hair and blue chiffon at the end of the aisleway.

… _Dovayat_.

Danor followed her gaze and quickly stood, tipping his cap in greeting. "Princess Allura, what brings you here today?"

"Just looking for someone who's an hour late for a dress fitting," she answered with a knowing smile.

_Dress fitting?_

_Dovayat pol._

She had forgotten about it completely, and for once not even intentionally. "I, um, I lost track of time!" She vaulted off the crate, stumbled, and barely caught herself before going down in a heap on the floor.

Auntie actually giggled. "It's alright, Larmina. Just come along without bruising yourself too badly, please? Nanny is so flustered she acted _improperly_ in front of me, if we catch her before she recovers she ought to go easy on you."

Now that sounded fantastic. Larmina jumped up, started to follow, then paused and turned back to Danor. "Thank you for the lesson, sir." She gave a perfect curtsy and a genuine smile without even thinking about it. "Hopefully I'll be back sometime soon."

He chuckled, tipping his cap to her as well. "I'll look forward to it, m'lady."

Allura arched an eyebrow, then spun towards the door before Larmina could notice the even more knowing smile crossing her lips. It would probably obligate her to be insulted, and there was no need for that.

_Don't point out that she's learning. Just let her find her way._

There was still time…


	13. Boxed In

They'd gone straight from the temple to Sorthal's main spaceport. According to intel, the Sorith were an essentially passive race, content to sell fuel and trade goods and not ask too many questions. It seemed like just the respite they needed after the Temple of What The Fuck.

Keith was asleep, with the team under strict orders not to wake him unless the ship was on fire. Jace had been hovering over him for awhile, but he'd finally reluctantly headed out to replenish his medical kit; Sven had gone with him, probably to keep him from causing an interstellar incident. Flynn was off arranging refueling, which left only Lance and Hunk minding the shop. Or the ship. Whichever.

The big guy was holed up in the bay, and Lance was kicked back on the bridge with his nose buried in novel about a fighter pilot in World War Two. His arm still hurt like hell. At least the poison seemed to have mostly faded, leaving him with a dull headache that only really made itself known if he heard any loud noises.

He was just getting to the good part when a dull echo penetrated his focus. _Huh?_ He looked up, frowning. It was a little hard to tell the difference between soft sounds and the intermittent pounding in his ears. "Hunk, did you call?"

"Wasn't me, bro."

Must have been the headache, then. Lance shrugged and went back to his book. A sharp pounding on the hatch nearly knocked him out of his seat maybe ten seconds later. Okay, not his imagination.

"They can't open a door?" he grumbled. It was probably Jace, if his arm weren't so mangled he'd—as the hatch slid open his thoughts cut off, eyes widening in shock.

What could only be a Sorith stared back at him.

He gave the visitor a quick once-over as he fought to get his bearings. It was distinctly feline, with a wiry build and long fangs; it was covered in slate-blue fur with darker stripes, and a bright orange crest ran along its head and down its back. Its eyes were the same orange as the crest, and remained focused on him intently as he studied it.

"Inspection," it finally declared in a low, gruff voice.

Wait, what? _Shit_. Letting this thing into their hold was out of the question, considering what they'd just looted. "Uh… we were told there wouldn't be an inspection?"

The Sorith flipped through a set of what looked like metal tags in its three-fingered hands, frowning. "Told by who?"

_By the fucking brass._ "You know, the higher ups." He grinned, forcing down the urge to punch a monitor. "I'm sure your bosses drive you mad too, huh?" _Stupid bad intel._

All that got him was the same unblinking orange stare. "Which higher ups?"

"My bosses. Morons, the lot of them." He snorted derisively, looking over the Sorith again. They were quite pretty, with clever features and soft, shiny fur… he could work with this. "I'm Lance, by the way."

"Under what authority, Lance by the way? You are not listed as exempt."

"Oh, um." Had it just…? _Geez, tough crowd._ "The Alliance, Earth. They said there wouldn't be any need for an inspection if we refueled here." _Let's try this introduction thing again._ "What's your name? I mean, you know I'm Lance."

The Sorith's fur bristled. For a few moments he was sure it would ignore that question, but finally it gave in. "I am Kyu. Your Alliance is misinformed. Shielded bays must be inspected."

Shielded bays? Oh. Right. He remembered Flynn warning them of that… damn, it felt like such a long time ago. _Well, fuck._ Time to redouble the charm offensive. "Wow, more work for you, huh? I bet you'd rather be out relaxing, taking a long walk…"

Clearly that had not been charming; immediately Kyu growled. "Have not insulted _you_ , Earthling," it snapped indignantly. "I am not lazy."

"What?" Lance's eyebrows shot up. "Kyu—Kyu, what a beautiful name—I would never think you're lazy, I mean look at you! You're so…" He didn't know a thing about Sorith cultural values. _What's a cat thing, what's a cat thing…_ "So clean!"

"Yes," Kyu hissed, decidedly not charmed. "Also _busy_."

Okay then. Lance nodded and smiled a bit nervously. "Right, and you like being busy, I get that…" He was off balance. This _never_ happened to him.

"Not being kept busy _babbling_. Let me inspect. Timetable is strict."

"Timetables, yeah, those suck." In some desperation he offered his most winning smile. "Are you busy later, Kyu?"

Again it flipped through the metal tags. "You are on the schedule now. Not later."

Of course they were. "I meant, you know, you could show me the sights? The trendy hot spots?" He eyed the Sorith's sleek legs. "Do you dance?"

"There are tourist guides," it answered with an annoyed hiss. "I am an inspector."

_It's immune to your charms, McClain._ In a long history of successful flirting with anyone and anything that caught his attention, that was a first. _What the fuck is wrong with this species? New plan. Think, think, think…_ "Uh, well, there isn't really anything to see here." Oh yeah, that would work.

"Then inspection will be swift."

Of course it would. "Right… well, I'm not authorized to let you on board."

Kyu stared at him.

Lance stared back, flashing that most charming smile.

"Summon who is authorized."

"Right, uh, yeah. Sure…" He stepped back, closed the hatch in Kyu's face, and exhaled. "Maybe if I ignore them they'll go away?" Looking back around, he checked the small viewport. No, the inspector was not going away. It hadn't even taken a single step back. Sighing, Lance keyed up the comms. Time to call in some backup. "Yo, Hunk, could you come to the hatchway?"

"Uh, comin', bro." The dull bass _thump_ that had been faintly discernible from the bay cut off, and a minute later Hunk appeared around the corner. "What's up?"

"Oh la chat!" Lance muttered, pointing to the hatchway.

Hunk didn't speak French. "Huh?" He turned and peered out the viewport, and immediately brightened. "Aww, look at the cute kitty!"

One of the first things the Alliance drilled into its recruits was that aliens who resembled Earth species should not, in fact, be assumed to be anything like said Earth species. But there was intellectually knowing that, and then there was viscerally convincing yourself _not_ to see a cat person's big ears and fuzzy whiskers as adorable.

"Its looks are deceiving," Lance warned, "it has Jace levels of charm." Hunk snickered. "It wants to inspect the cargo."

That cut off the snicker. "Uh, thought they didn't do inspections here?"

_So did I._ "Yeah, that intel missed some important points."

Hunk looked out at the Sorith again, and found it quite a bit less cute. "Okay, so uh… whatcha want me to do?"

"Well…" Lance shrugged. If he knew that he wouldn't have needed to call him. "It wouldn't flirt with me, so I ran out of ideas. Your turn."

"Should we wake the boss up?"

"No. No, we shouldn't do that." The ship was not on fire. There had to be _some_ better way out of this.

"Hmm." Hunk frowned, then held up a hand and vanished into the cargo bay. A minute later he returned, hauling one of the largest empty boxes. "Let's try this."

_Try what, exactly?_ Lance poked the stiff carbonweave and shook his head. "I don't think it's gonna fall for that being all we have in here."

"But it's a cat, yeah? If it fits, it sits?"

What?

_What?!_

Lance stared at him and blinked, dumbfounded. "Why did I call you for help?"

"Because you haven't heard about the last inspection I helped with, I'm guessin'."

That wasn't overly encouraging, but what other ideas did they have? "Well… it is a cat, let's offer it the box." A lot of xenoculture specialists would have been mortified, he knew that. But then maybe they should've tried giving the team a proper briefing.

Hunk opened the hatch; Kyu was still standing right at the top of the ramp. "Yo! Heard you need to do some inspectin'. Here's our cargo."

_This isn't going to work_. Lance watched with increasing trepidation as the Sorith studied the box and gave Hunk a look of disapproval. "This is only a box."

"Kyu, my cat! It's a great box though, huh?"

He hadn't really expected that to accomplish anything, and it didn't. "I am certain it is a well-constructed box. It is empty."

"Huh? Course it's not empty," Hunk protested. Lance side-eyed him, and the big man mouthed 'trust me' when the inspector wasn't looking. _Well, okay_ … he shrugged and let Hunk do whatever he was doing. "You gotta look closer, bro. It definitely ain't empty."

"It certainly is empty," Kyu grumbled, but nonetheless he leaned over the edge of the box and peered inside.

"Right, give it a right good inspection, Inspector." Even knowing it wasn't doing any good, Lance flashed his most charming smile again. He couldn't help it. How the hell could it not be working?

Hunk had more underhanded ideas. As Kyu leaned further over the box, Hunk gave him a small shove in the back. Just enough to dump him in headfirst and slam the lid shut behind him.

Immediately a series of indignant yowls erupted from what was, in fact, a very well-constructed box.

"…You put the cat in the box," Lance said blankly.

"Yep. Definitely did that."

He managed to recover enough to glare. "That's fucking stupid!" Before he could continue, the box jolted, fell on one side, and started to tumble down the boarding ramp. "Oh, shit." They did not need more curious cats showing up. He ran down the ramp after it, glaring over his shoulder again to make sure Hunk was following. "We've gotta get it inside."

"Inside? What are we gonna do with it inside?"

"Its howling is gonna draw attention!" He reached the box, which was still shaking and yowling, so at least it was a safe bet Kyu wasn't too badly hurt. "Did you have a plan for what to do _after_ it went in the box?"

"Uh, kind of." Hunk frowned. "It might still work."

Lance wasn't too sure he trusted that, considering how this 'plan' had gone so far. But he still didn't have any better ideas. "How?"

"I'll take care of this." Hunk leaned over and lifted the box easily, steadying it as best he could in his arms. "Call the others back, yeah? I'm not sure how much time this'll buy us." He turned away before Lance could really respond, carrying the angry box towards the spaceport proper.

Truthfully, Lance was in favor of calling the others back. Maybe someone else could come up with a plan when this one went to hell… well, even more to hell. "What kind of species doesn't understand good flirting when they see it?" he muttered, shaking his head, and ran for the bridge.

*****

It was still a bit chilly…

Keith woke slowly, shivering and pulling the blankets a bit tighter around him. Part of him wanted to go back to sleep; part of him was certain he'd been sleeping long enough, especially when he felt the faint vibrations of the engines burning in real space. That couldn't be right, could it? He opened his eyes, and found their medic staring right back at him.

"Oh hey! Nice of you to join us, boss."

No doubt. He blinked a few times, shaking off the veil of sleep. "How long have I been out?"

"Eh, not that long." Jace shrugged. "Twelve hours or so. How're you feeling?"

"Still kind of cold… twelve hours?" He tried to sit up, though between lingering exhaustion and being tangled up in the blankets it was slow going. "I thought we were taking a couple of days to recover on-planet, why are we not on the ground?"

"…Uh-uh, boss. I'm just here to do the medic-ing. Not _touching_ that."

Keith gave him a funny look. Whenever Jace refused to talk about something that was a warning sign. "Send Kleid in here. I need a sitrep."

"I'm here," came the too-quick response from just outside the door. "Let the doctor do his job."

Another warning sign. Keith was pretty sure he hadn't at all interfered with Jace doing his job. What the hell was their engineer doing hanging out in the hallway, anyway?

Flynn was in fact not the only person in the hallway. _He_ had a report to make. What everyone else's excuse was, he wasn't quite so certain about… but since they were here, he glared at Hunk and Lance across from him. Not much of a glare, but enough to get his point across.

"Schrodinger's cat was _not_ my idea," Lance muttered defensively.

Hunk shrugged. "It _worked_. Cat's fine. We're fine." Lance gave him a look that was obviously attempting to be a glare, but it would've worked better if he weren't visibly trying to hold back laughter.

Flynn managed a better one. "Sure, you're fine, not _your_ ass Kogane's going to take as a trophy."

"Good trophy," Lance commented, eyeing the ass in question, and Flynn choked and turned away as his cheeks flushed bright pink.

"Kleid, get in here," Keith ordered. He waved Jace off, but the medic paused a moment before retreating.

"…Just so we're clear, boss. You are not medically cleared for strenuous activity, which includes throttling, maiming, or murdering your crew." That got him a very unappreciative look from Flynn as he walked in; Keith just blinked.

_What in the hell would make him clarify_ that?

"Feeling better?" Flynn asked in a resigned tone. He knew he wasn't here to get a briefing on his commander's recovery.

"That's debatable. What is going on? I thought we were taking a couple of days on the planet. Why are we airborne?"

"There were complications," he said delicately. Stalling for just a few more seconds, to try to figure out how to explain this mess.

Keith sighed and gave him a _look_. "What kind of complications?"

"Turns out they do inspections on Sorthal."

…Oh. Yes, that would be a complication. "What?"

"They do hazard scanning. Our bay can't be scanned, so they wanted an inspection."

_Of course they did._ Why would intel be right about something? "Okay, so… what happened?"

"Lance had the bridge." Flynn raised his voice slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "Lance tried to flirt our way out of it."

"…So, he ended up in the local jail for lewd behavior?"

"I'm not a _creepy_ flirt!" Lance yelled from the hallway, sticking his head in the door to glare when Jace snickered. Flynn motioned for him to elaborate. "I attempted to charm Inspector Kyu, but they were unresponsive. These Sorith cats are _uptight_."

Sigh. "So what happened, McClain?"

"I called Hunk."

"Oh no." Keith went pale, pressing his palm to his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut. He was going to have a headache here in a minute, he could see it already.

"Not _my_ fault he called me," Hunk protested from the hallway.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"So did the box."

"I thought the box was supposed to get them to sit in it!"

"They did sit in it! I mean, kinda upside down and stuff, but they sat in it!"

"Only because you slammed the lid shut!" Pause. "Though it beats my plan C, which was shooting them."

Keith's eyes snapped open. _"What?!"_

"Kidding!"

Even Flynn had snickered at that, and Keith shot him a scowl. He was definitely getting that headache. Actually he had two headaches, both of whom were standing in the hallway, but anyway. "Just… what did you two actually do?"

"We uh, we put Inspector Kyu in the box," Hunk answered a bit nervously. "And they didn't like it, and they kinda fell down the ramp, which wasn't our fault…"

Keith pushed the blankets off and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, all cold and exhaustion forgotten. "Tell me we did _not_ kidnap the damn inspector."

"Course not!" He sounded much more indignant than seemed justified.

"And tell me you all did not cause an interstellar incident with that planet."

"Of course not!" Lance said with equal indignation.

"To be determined," Flynn muttered at the same time.

Their pilot shrugged. "I like to be optimistic."

Nothing about this situation seemed to merit optimism. But there was also nothing much to be done for it. "Okay. Continue."

Hunk picked it up again. "I took the inspector to the med station. In the box."

" _In_ the box?" Keith looked at Flynn.

"Don't look at me, I wasn't there."

" _In_ the box," Hunk confirmed, still sounding a little offended. "Told 'em they fell in our bay and hit their head, got real shook up, didn't know what they were talkin' about anymore."

Well that was… not quite as bad as it could have been, probably. "And they bought it?"

"Well…"

Keith's eyes narrowed. "What exactly happened next?"

Flynn, Lance, and Hunk all exchanged wary glances; Jace took another step back. And that was when Sven decided to make his presence known from the hallway. "I _told_ them not to illegally flee the planet!"

_"What?!"_

"Yes," Flynn agreed, "let's put that on the record. Holgersson told us not to do anything stupid. We didn't listen."

"We didn't flee," Lance protested. "We just left quickly."

"Very quickly," Jace agreed.

"Super quick." Hunk nodded emphatically.

Flynn shook his head and looked back at his commander. It was probably best if they got to the bottom line here eventually. "We're going to have to refuel somewhere else."

_So_ this _is what the Doc meant…_

Looking around at his team—his loyal, quick-thinking, extremely competent, and _completely insane_ team—Keith took a few deep breaths and let the situation sink in. He couldn't really do anything about it now. They seemed to have gotten away clean, based on the lack of alarms going off and the entire team crowded in his doorway. Slowly he nodded in acceptance. "Where did you have in mind to refuel, Kleid?"

_"That's_ your next question?" Lance asked incredulously. Hunk elbowed him.

Keith would have elbowed him too if he'd been in range; he settled for a glare. "Don't push it, McClain."

"Seriously," Jace agreed with a scowl, "I've already told him he's not medically cleared to murder you. Don't tempt him."

As Lance held up his hands in surrender, Flynn fielded the original question as if the whole conversation hadn't happened. "Holgersson has us on course for an Alliance scouting resupply base."

"Where they won't ask questions." Keith nodded. "Good call."

"Yes," Sven chimed in grumpily, "it was that or head for another planet where these people could cause another interplanetary incident."

"The cat is _fine!"_ Hunk protested.

"They were pretty hot," Lance agreed sullenly; he was still irritated that it had been immune to his charms.

Jace was also immune to his charms. "You didn't even give it an air conditioned box?"

"All right!" Keith rubbed his forehead as they all fell silent. Maybe he could go back to sleep, and when he woke up they'd be on Sorthal like they were supposed to be. No… if this was a dream, his brain freeze had been much worse than he'd thought. "Everyone but Kleid is dismissed."

Flynn looked less than pleased by that, but the other three in the hallway didn't need to be told twice. They scattered. Jace looked between the boss and his second for a moment. "…I'll go make you some hot soup or something. Don't fill up biting the chief's head off."

Shaking his head, Keith watched the medic leave and returned his attention to Flynn. "So we left the planet without authorization?"

"Technically we _had_ authorization." He frowned. "Granted they revoked it before we got to the runway, but we had it."

"Oh, good. I'm surprised we don't have fighters on our tail."

"I don't think they have fighters."

Thank the gods for small favors. "Well they _do_ have subspace communications. I'll be surprised if we don't get arrested at the supply depot."

"Bring on the arrest. The brass sent us out here to loot their temple and told us the planet wouldn't do inspections, JAG will _love_ it." Flynn shook his head. "Honestly, planets that only do hazard scanning aren't going to hunt you down and bring you back so they can see the assumed hazmat you're carrying. We just won't be welcomed back."

"…Good point." If that was all that came of it, that was completely fine with Keith. He never wanted to so much as _see_ Sorthal again. Still… he sighed. "Twelve hours. Twelve hours and you all Explorer Team an illegal escape off a planet."

"It's in the job description." Flynn shrugged. "Nobody's going to win any awards for gallantry, but you've got that covered anyway."

Keith blinked. "What?" If that meant what he thought it meant…

"Nothing." Smirk. "Anyway, you should get some more rest. You know, just in case you _do_ need to explain this when we get to the outpost."

"Yeah. That will be… fun… to explain."

"Yes, it _was_." Flynn's tone made him doubt he'd have much help with any future explanations. "Anything else?"

He considered that for a minute, then sighed. At least some shred of discipline had to be enforced around here. "Put Lance and Hunk on latrine duty until we get to the depot."

"Latrine duty? But…" Whatever protest he'd been starting to make, he thought better of it. "Roger that. Go to sleep."

Sleep. Keith didn't particularly want to sleep—look how well that had gone for him _last_ time. Besides, Jace was off getting him soup. But he laid back under the blankets and let himself doze.

_Explorer Teams…_

_*****_

"McClain, Garrett, conference room."

Lance and Hunk had retreated to the rec room, instinctively unified by the mess they'd gotten themselves into. They exchanged worried looks as Flynn's clipped order came over the comms.

"Uh oh."

"Crap."

Well, may as well get it over with. Lance sauntered casually into the conference room, doing his best to project confidence; Hunk made some effort to sneak in behind him. As if _that_ would work. Sitting on the table, Flynn shot him a look of mild disbelief, and he gave up on the attempt.

"…I still can't believe you two actually put the inspector in a damn _box_."

"He," Lance corrected, _"he_ put the inspector in a damn box."

"Dude, what did you expect when you asked for my help?" Hunk protested. "A well-reasoned plan?"

"I don't know! I was all off-balance, they wouldn't fall for my charm."

"Okay, okay." Flynn looked between the two of them and shook his head. He really wanted to ask why they hadn't just called him… though he wasn't too sure what he would've done, either. Something that wasn't putting the inspector in a damn _box_. "Anyway, Kogane wants you two on latrine duty until we get to the outpost."

Lance made a face; Hunk did too, but his was out of confusion. "Uh, pit boss? They clean themselves, yeah?"

"…We supposed to supervise it?"

Shrug. "I know that. You know that. Kogane apparently doesn't know that." His eyes narrowed slightly as they snickered. "You two owe me."

"Do we now?" Lance asked with a devilish smirk.

Flynn smirked right back. "If you want Kogane to continue not to know that they clean themselves? Yes."

Laughing, Lance nodded as Hunk swatted him lightly. "Seriously, yes, we owe you one."

"Totally. Want some murder pepper tacos?"

There were very few things Flynn could think of that he wanted _less_ than murder pepper tacos. "Get out of here." Grin. "Go do your jobs or something."

Hanging around for him to change his mind didn't seem like a good idea. Lance winked and took off, heading for the bridge, and Hunk saluted before making his way to the galley. More murder pepper tacos for him, then.

That all could've gone _so_ much worse.

*****

Larmina was in the forest again. Maybe Auntie knew to look for her in the workshop, but nobody would find her _here_. And the closer they got to the ball, the more her other task weighed on her. The mystery supposedly awaiting her here… where was she supposed to search? Where was she expected to go? The only mysterious thing she'd caught any hint of was the sourceless growl in the forest, and _sourceless_ was the key word there.

So maybe just being out here would help? Yes. Yes, that was definitely the reasoning. She wasn't avoiding anything, of course not.

_I hate this._

She was sitting against a large tree and nibbling on some berries; her time exploring the forest back home had taught her a lot about what was edible and what wasn't. There really wasn't much stopping her from disappearing here until after the ball had come and gone. Nothing but her conscience.

Unfortunately, that conscience was pretty well-tuned. She couldn't do that to her mother. For all she complained, for as much as she hated it, Larmina knew what Queen Orla had sacrificed by embracing her bastard daughter rather than disowning her. It wasn't quite in her to just throw _that_ away.

So what could she do? She wasn't ready for this stupid ball. She wasn't ready for courtship, or marriage, or any of that. No amount of training from Nanny or anyone else would make her ready for the prison she was about to be thrown into, the one she was already pretty much stuck in. But there was no way out, was there?

A soft growl echoed on the breeze, as if in response to her thoughts. Larmina raised her head, frowning. _There it is again_ … she tried to ignore it, but it just got louder. A deep, steady rumble that seemed to shake the trees.

Wait, no…

The rumble was something else. Something coming from above? Looking up all she could see was the thick leaves and filtered sunlight streaming down.

_Probably just a shuttle or something_. She popped another berry into her mouth and scowled at the sky. _Probably bringing some supplies for the big stupid debut._

_Golden Gods, about that whole getting me out of this ball thing? I'm still waiting_.

*****

Mere weeks until the big ball… if she hadn't known better, Allura would have thought it was happening much sooner. Nanny was going a bit over the moon in the planning of the event; Allura couldn’t quite understand why she was going so far. Granted, the debut ball was a major event in a young royal's life, but she didn't think it was _this_ important. There would be other events, grander ones. The first ball was more of a starting point, a transitional phase: the beginning of a long process of courtship, not the ultimate goal.

Nanny would chastise her for those thoughts, and say she was much too like her father. She already knew of the arguments Nanny would have with King Alfor, complaining about how he gave in too much to his daughter's wishes. It wasn't proper, she said… as if any noble son or daughter of Arus not married off by eighteen was making a grave mistake, or worse, somehow unfit. Which Allura felt was nonsense. Her father was just more forward thinking. He wasn’t giving up on the time-honored traditions of Arus, but making things more flexible for future generations.

Allura would be turning nineteen not too long after Larmina turned sixteen, but she was not yet expected to deal with such things as marriage and courtship… not by High King, anyway. It was irregular, but she felt it was best. As far as she was concerned, she had enough on her hands with her education and other matters unique to her role as the Crown Princess. Perhaps the greatest gift her father had ever given her was the power to choose _when_ she would seek out a husband, her partner in ruling Arus when the time came. In return for having such trust placed in her, she focused hard on her lessons.

Today she was tasked with overseeing Nanny's will for the debut ball, to show how much she'd learned. A small thing, and of course Nanny herself had planned plenty of balls before. She had no need of a supervisor. But today Nanny was in the capital with Tanner, so Allura would be her stand-in. Her father wanted her to see firsthand what went into planning such things, to understand the hard work of those responsible for putting the event together. It was quite fascinating, and Allura was smiling as she went searching for the captain in charge of security.

Captain Randel bowed as she came near. "Princess Allura, how may I help you?"

"I'm just curious what goes into securing an event like this. Maybe you could give me a small primer on it?"

Having the Crown Princess show interest in his tasks made the Captain brighten a bit, and he pulled up a few of the holographic panels which made up the security system. Highlighting the various zones of the castle he showed her the guard posts, the sensors, the checkpoints manned by knights in full ceremonial dress. It was a quite pleasant discussion, and Allura was fully absorbed in it when an alert started to sound on the Captain's personal communication device.

Allura couldn't hear what was coming over the comms, but was taken aback by the look on Randel's face as he listened. He was going steadily more pale, and she startled as he abruptly grabbed her elbow. “Forgive me, Princess, but we must move to a safe area, and now.”

“What is going on?” Allura managed to ask as he half-lead, half-pulled her towards the stairs to the lower levels of the castle.

Before he could answer, a loud explosion rocked the castle. The walls trembled, chunks of stone and plaster falling down around them. Several of the castle staff froze in the hallways, but Captain Randel didn't stop. “That, my Princess… an attack is happening. Please, I must get you to safety.”

An _attack?_

Allura couldn't find anything to say about that, not that he could have heard her over the roar of another impact. Glass shattered somewhere in the distance. Stunned by the screams and explosions, she didn’t fight as he pulled her deeper into the underground chambers, hidden deep beneath the castle she called home.

*****

Nanny had taken young Prince Tanner out to Falastol, the capital city of the Crown Province—and thus all of Arus. She was pleased to see her hard work was showing. His manners and movements were the finest examples of the highest royal forms for his age. While this was nothing more than a formal meeting of youths of the various nearby noble houses, Tanner was perfectly presenting himself as the son of the High King. If anything, it made her feel a little bit better… the big day for the hellion girl's debut ball was getting closer. Seeing how Tanner was  behaving gave her hope that her fears of an overall royal revolt were unfounded.

As she waited outside the reception hall, she'd casually eavesdropped, listening to the host noble giving his thanks for everyone's participation. She had beamed as she heard the young prince’s polite return of thanks for being invited. Indeed, it had been a nice gathering of young minds, including a simple debate of Arus’ role in future interplanetary interactions. Of course, she had to hold her own tongue on the matter. There was no _need_ to have interaction with anyone outside of Arus. But she understood youth enough to know curiosity’s lure could be strong. One just needed to provide a better distraction, to guide one’s charge onto their proper course.

“Nanny, when we return home, is it okay if I get a snack? I am hoping that small dish of fruit and crackers will be fine… maybe some cheese as well?”

Slightly startled from her thoughts by the prince's carefully phrased request, Nanny noted the time. “Hungry still after the lunch you just had? I guess a small bowl will be fine, but then you have some reading that you must do. It would be best if you can make some advance progress on your lessons, with the grand ball approaching so quickly."

“Of course, Nanny." Tanner nodded respectfully. "Would it be safe to assume you wish a few pages of a report on the reading done as well?”

“That would make me quite happy, if you could.” Heading towards the carriage waiting, Nanny could not help but smile as she followed the young prince. The day was just so perfect. Perhaps she would give in and spoil her charges, just a bit, with her most delicious treats after dinner. She silently debated which to make, and had nearly made her decision…

There was a flash of light. Something bright crimson in the sky. Then the ground seemed to spring to life, tossing them both into the air.

No…

It wasn’t the ground that had moved. The royal guards had grabbed them with shocking force, more so as she hadn’t even realized they were there. The guards had immediately covered the prince well—praise the Gods and Goddess of Gold—and were rushing him to safety. A young lieutenant had a grip on her hand, following them as best as they could. Nanny wasn’t even sure where they were headed, but she prayed the whole way to make it to wherever it was.

Sound was finally reaching them. Screams and explosions in the distance as searing light rained down. It was the sound of destruction, of life being shredded from its physical form… and fire was roaring in the streets. It seemed like it was everywhere.

“Oh, Honored Mother…" Nanny moaned as her legs protested the exertion, and it became harder to see where the royal guards were rushing through the smoke. Somewhere in the screams of panic, she swore she could hear Tanner calling out for her. "Goddess, I can hear him!" She willed her feet to move faster despite the pain. Her heart leapt as she saw them heading towards a building with an ancient marking, an old shelter system. Long ago the shelters had been built for times of strife, only to be forgotten in centuries of peace. They seemed to be a beacon of hope now.

As they passed the entrance she could feel her legs buckling under her. Forcing herself to keep moving she found that was the last she had, and cried out as she fell. Hardly missing a stride, the lieutenant lifted her up onto his shoulders and continued on in the direction of the others. Deeper down into the tunnels they traveled. Soon, they reached an area so far down the vibrations of the destruction above could barely be heard. They could rest, for now.

Except Nanny could hardly rest…

She immediately asked the lieutenant to seek out where Prince Tanner had gone. Nodding, he gave her a portion of a snack bar he had pocketed for later and headed off. He returned much later, sadness clear on his face. It seemed there was more than one tunnel in the system… the guards had taken a different turn. The tunnels were old and poorly maintained, and the ongoing attack could destabilize some of the upper corridors. It was not safe to explore to try to find them.

Nanny bit her lip. It felt like a failure. Such danger, and her charge was somewhere else. She could only have faith that the guards with him would continue their duty, and keep him safe. For now… she could only pray for deliverance.

_Honored Mother, I beg you, bring him home_.


	14. Avengers Assemble

Lance couldn’t stay away.

He tried to stop thinking about it. He pushed it to the back of his mind. But it was always _there_. Warmth. Fire. Comfort.

And it was freaking him out.

It made no sense and so he found himself in the cargo bay, in front of the crate where they were keeping the metal. That crazy metal. The weird fucking metal. He reached in and touched the black piece first, just a stroke of it, and nothing. Nothing but metal, normal, boring metal. But it couldn’t be? It wasn’t. They all knew it, Keith especially. Lance thought about the boss, wondering if his head was as full of these thoughts as his was? Could he get the feelings the metal gave him out of his head, or was he distracted too?

Inhaling slowly, his eyes fell to the red piece. It didn’t even look like a normal red to him. It was too bright, and he almost thought—maybe—it seemed to be pulsing. But that was probably in his head, just him trying to make sense out of what he felt when touched it.  

He reached out, he couldn’t put it off any longer, he’d never been patient. His hand wrapped around the metal and he nearly dropped it again—it was even hotter than his mind had let him remember. Hot enough he was sure it should burn. His hand should be red and blistered.

But it _wasn’t_.

He was fine. He was more than fine. His eyes closed as the heat became warmth again, it flickered and made him fall back into memories of his life before Earth. It was Beau Terre on a chilly night and a fire in the fireplace, his mom and dad in their chairs and him on the floor with one of his model planes.

_How?_

He blinked and realized he was tearing up. This was bizarre, it was insane, it should terrify him. It _did_ terrify him. It really did. But he couldn’t shake it… the feeling of comfort, of safety. Like it belonged to him. Like that memory belonged with him. He wiped at his eyes for a moment, then jumped as his alert sounded. Time for his shift…

Lance let the metal clatter down and made his way to bridge, pushing it all away again.

*****

Sven took deep breath, trying to really take in the moment. He was on the bridge, at his station, mapping out the best way to Earth from the outpost they were currently heading to.

It was completely silent.

Such moments had been practically nonexistent on this mission, not that he minded that much. The expectation of excitement and noise had been one of the main reasons he was excited to join an Explorer Team, and this group had definitely exceeded his expectations in that area.

Chuckling quietly, he focused back on the work in front of him. He was working out the math by hand. He had already put the equations into the computer, but there was no harm in double checking its answers. Really he preferred working them out on his own, without a computer, but there usually wasn’t time. There was something therapeutic about it, seeing all the steps laid out.

He'd also thought that it would be a great distraction from the bittersweet emotions he was experiencing at the thought of going home. It hadn’t exactly worked. It actually made it harder to not think about going home, when he was mapping them out a way to _get_ home _._

He was definitely excited to see his parents and friends on Earth, he’d never been away from them this long, but Earth wasn’t where he wanted to be. This mission had confirmed that for him. He wanted the excitement and adventure of traveling to other worlds. He’d traveled away from Earth this once and now he was hooked, and it wasn’t really the other planets, it was the travel itself. The other planets and cultures were amazing, but Sven had never been more at peace than when he was in space. He was meant to be in _space_.

It wasn’t that he hated, or even disliked Earth. It was his home planet, of course it was special to him, but being in space was what the navigator truly craved. He wasn't ready to go back so soon. That, and Jace was threatening to teach him about 'actual human recreational activities', and he was feeling quite uneasy about that situation.

Though even that might be better than having his parents breathing down his neck, as they no doubt would… Sven shook his head. _Math_. Focus on the math.

*****

The trip from Sorthal to Echo Fox Waystation was very short. They wouldn't even have to navigate a proper system; the _Cache_ -class space station was in free orbit around a star with no exoplanets and some charming name like 3837.20-EF. Lance was in the cargo bay again when the shift warning beeped on his datapad. They would be exiting hyperspace soon. Immediately he rushed for the bridge—weird metal was weird metal, but this was _flying_.

As he entered the boss was drumming his fingers on his armrest. "Where is McClain…"

"I'm right here, didn't you hear the door?" He dropped into his seat, shaking his head. It wasn't that late.

"Latrine duty taking that much of your time?"

Oh yes. _So_ much of his time. "Making it all shiny, boss." He grinned and glanced over at Sven, who had more or less pointedly ignored the exchange. The navigation data appeared on his screen a moment later, a soft series of pings accompanying the countdown to exit breach.

Keith nodded. "Bring us out of hyperspace, McClain."

"You got it." With a slight lurch, the _Firecrown_ slipped back into real space.

And into… what the hell?

"Whoa!" Lance wrenched them around as sirens started blaring in the bridge, though it wasn't really the sirens that had prompted it. It was more the fighters. And the plasma bolts. The station itself wasn't quite within visual range, but the magenta flares of its defense turrets were hard to miss.

Alarms were going off in the engine bay, too; the bridge comms picked up an exasperated yell that probably hadn't been transmitted on purpose. "What _now?"_

Keith blinked, taking in the scene for a split second, then his eyes narrowed. "Engineering, what's our fuel status?"

Flynn calmed, more or less. "We have enough to maneuver in real space for a little while yet, but unless Holgersson's got something within three light years we can't make another jump."

The odds of that were pretty low, which wasn't to say Sven hadn't already been checking it out. Dropping into the middle of a full-on _siege_ was the kind of thing that called for contingencies. "There's nowhere we can reach on that level of fuel."

"Then we'll do the best we can here." Keith switched over to the gunnery station and strapped in. "I need Garrett's missiles online and ready and this gunnery station unlocked, now."

"It's not…" Flynn trailed off. This wasn't really the time to admit he'd never actually bothered to re-lock the gunnery console after the first incident. "…Missiles online."

Lance looked over at Keith and his hands tightened on the controls. "What's the plan?"

"We're going to fight our way to the station. It's the only option."

"Maybe they won't notice us?" Hunk suggested halfheartedly. He was on the point defense console, and at least for the moment they weren't getting any incoming missile locks. He didn't really expect that to continue when they started approaching, though.

Neither did Keith; he hit the comms. Best to let the station know they were coming before braving whatever was going on. "Echo Fox Waystation, this is the CES _Firecrown_ , inbound for resupply. Do you need assistance?"

The other two on the bridge side-eyed him for that, but he ignored them. What was he going to do, _not_ offer assistance?

Not that the station controller was any more convinced. "CES _Firecrown_ , radar contact. Not sure what you think you're going to do, exactly."

" _We're_ never sure what we're going to do," Sven muttered under his breath.

Lance grinned slightly, his eyes on the screens and the scans. He was starting to make some sense of the enemy fighter pattern. There were about ten of them running a screen, only occasionally darting in to test the station's defenses. "It's always worked in our favor so far, Viking."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing. We're still alive."

"You'd be amazed, Echo Fox," Keith said grimly. "We're inbound and about to run the blockade."

"You're cleared for docking bay 5A if you can make it here," the controller answered after a moment. "We can't give you any cover until you're in range of our guns."

_Obviously_. But then, he was clearly under some stress right now. "Roger that. McClain, just get us to the station. If anything gets too close I'll take it out."

Back in the bay, Flynn had been cycling through the radar contacts. It was nice to have enough time to at least figure out what they were up against. The fighters were Sparrows, a century-old design that usually meant pirates… but much more worrisome was a larger contact that flashed the identifier _Leyte_.

Well hell. "Kogane, there's another fucking carrier out there."

"We've been spotted," Lance reported at almost the same moment, watching the fighters start to turn.

Keith closed his eyes for a moment. "Just great, Kleid. McClain, engage. Just don't get us killed."

"We'll get there. Engaging." The _Firecrown_ 's engines roared and it shot forward at full speed, leaving the first warning shots from the fighters to burn through empty space.

"Kleid, keep your eye on that carrier. If it so much as twitches I want to know. We've got to focus on these fighters otherwise, they're the main threat."

"It seems pretty content not to get in the station's turret range. …Don't blame it, particularly."

"Inbound missiles," Hunk reported as they streaked past an overshooting fighter. "I've got 'em. Speaking of, uh, boss? Those missiles I built are dumbfire. Just so ya know."

"…Great." Keith supposed that made sense, but it did make his job a little trickier. "I don't need guidance systems anyway." It might have come off as a _bit_ sarcastic.

"You can do it, boss!" The point defense turrets flared briefly. "I believe in ya!"

One of the fighters was moving on an intercept course, and Lance pushed straight for it as it placed itself between them and the station. "Bet you can get this dude, I'm gonna go under him."

Good to know. Narrowing his eyes, Keith dropped his crosshairs over the fighter, fighting down the reflex to wait for a missile lock. At the last second the _Firecrown_ pitched below the Sparrow in its path, and he let one missile fly.

There really wasn't time for any evasive maneuvers at this range, and the explosion rocked the ship.

"Holy…"

"Faex."

"Yeah, Garrett made the missiles."

_"Firecrown!_ You still out there?" The cry from the controller sounded slightly panicked.

"We're still here, Echo Fox! Working our way towards you." They weren't quite in the station's weapons range yet, but the revelation that their quarry was armed seemed to have given the fighters second thoughts. "Push it, McClain." Lance just nodded his acknowledgement; he was in the zone now. Not even the explosion had fazed him.

"I think that explosion scared the fighters a bit," Flynn reported, seconding what Keith himself had suspected. Then he shot his fellow engineer a wary look. "Along with the _rest of us_."

Hunk just grinned.

"Good. Maybe they'll back up and rethink what they're doing here."

Maybe. Or maybe it would just make them that much more determined to take them down… Flynn grimaced as the monitors beeped, answering that question as soon as he'd thought it. "The carrier is moving."

"Docking bay 5A in my sights." Smirking, Lance pushed the throttles, taking the _Firecrown_ right back to the edge of its capabilities. Right where he liked it.

"Get us in. _Now_."

Two fighters were swooping in behind them now, and they were much faster. But then a burst of energy erupted from the station, forcing one to break off pursuit and flee back out of range.

The other stayed with them, using the ship itself as cover. "One on our tail. Carrier has a lock."

Well if the carrier wanted to play that way, Keith would oblige. He dropped the crosshairs over the carrier and fired again. Nothing that big was going to dodge, though he didn't have the time to watch its results. The other Sparrow was still behind them, and close. "Echo Fox, got one on our six trying to follow us in."

"We've got it." As the _Firecrown_ swooped into the bay, the doors slammed shut behind it—and a matter of seconds later, a deafening _crash_ shook the bay as the fighter failed to pull back in time.

_That's one way to do it…_ Keith relaxed slightly. Only slightly. "Kleid, damage report."

"Nothing our shields couldn't handle. Not so sure about their door, though."

"As long as we can get back out…"

He was cut off by the scanners flashing with a distant explosion, and Hunk whooped with glee. Their parting shot had struck true. "Yeah, think about _that_ , Jolly Roger!"

"Jolly Roger?" Sven repeated blankly.

Hunk's grin faded. "…Ain't anyone here ever watched _any_ movies at _all?"_

"And he calls himself a Viking," Lance snorted, earning a mild glower from the navigator next to him.

"Seriously. Shameful."

"Television rots your brain," Sven muttered sullenly.

Jace had spent the whole skirmish in his 'battle station', and had mostly kept his mouth shut. But now—lying on the floor after being thrown off his bed, glaring at the ceiling, and listening to the comms—he couldn't take it anymore. "Look who you're _talking to_ , Viking."

That was enough of _that_. Keith returned to his command chair and overrode the internal comms before they could really get started. "Okay, people. McClain, shut her down. Let's go see what we can do to help."

Back in the bay, with the internal link safely off, Flynn listened to that phrasing and exchanged looks with Hunk. "…Kogane's going to decide we have to somehow save this place from pirates before we refuel, isn't he?"

"Does kinda seem to be his gig." Grin. "Oughta be fun."

Flynn rolled his eyes and started one last diagnostic. At the least, it ought to be _interesting_.

When wasn't it?

*****

By the time they started disembarking, there was a woman in the docking bay waiting for them. She was a half-human of some variety—the long black _feathers_ running down her back instead of hair made that clear enough—but Keith had no idea what the other half might be and didn't really care right now. He was more worried about the uniform she was wearing. Or more specifically, the infantry captain bars. "Take me to your commander. We need to refuel, but hopefully we can help with your problem out there first."

She studied him carefully. "I _am_ the commander here."

"…Oh! Sorry." Keith blushed. This station wasn't near as large as the ones he'd been accustomed to on the _Vesuvius_ ; it hadn't quite occurred to him that a captain might be all they needed in charge. "Wasn't thinking… a little shaken up, you know how it can be. I'm Commander Keith Kogane, Explorer Team 686."

"Captain Taltaria Syndar, Echo Fox Security. You've picked a hell of time to show up, Commander."

"Yeah, we kind of noticed that. We can help do something, if you have a plan."

Sven trailed just behind his commander, shaking his head and forcing himself not to smile. Lance came up behind him and whispered, "So, he telling them we're here to rescue them?"

"Essentially."

"Thinks he's Captain America."

"So which of us is Iron Man?" Hunk asked, joining them.

"Lance," Sven answered immediately, rolling his eyes as soon as it slipped out. _Why am I participating in this?_

Lance smirked at the same time. "Me."

Hunk considered that, then nodded. Seemed legit.

"Plan?" Syndar either didn't notice or just ignored the peanut gallery behind him, looking up at their battered _Endeavor_ instead. "Nothing we're going to enlist a civilian ship in. We've been under siege for a week."

That got Lance's attention. "A _week?"_

"Who're you calling a civilian ship?" Jace demanded from the top of the boarding ramp; he'd come out because really what else was there to do? Jumping off the ramp he nearly hit Flynn, who'd stopped for a moment to look at the extremely large dent in the bay door. He couldn't really blame the captain when she answered by giving them all a _very_ doubtful look.

He also wouldn't have blamed her if she'd decided to punch Lance for winking at her in response, but sadly she did not.

"It may look civilian, Captain, but _we_ aren't." Keith crossed his arms. "We still have four missiles and our point defenses. If you can get us a few more missiles we could make a good dent in their forces."

"I'd gladly give you more missiles, if we hadn't used them all." She shook her head. "Our plasma turrets are holding them off, but all we have left are those and a company of marines. Which is very helpful, as you can see." Scowl. "They're jamming our subspace communications, and pirate hunters rarely ever come through here. Apparently intel says there isn't a piracy problem in this sector."

"That sounds familiar," Flynn muttered under his breath, and Keith snorted.

"Yeah, we've been discovering intel… isn't always exactly at the forefront of the information services."

"What he means," Jace translated helpfully, "is military intelligence isn't." That drew a round of snickers that even Syndar joined in on.

"Well, we're here." Keith looked back at the ship, then around at his team. "And we're willing to help."

"That's us, the Avengers." Lance grinned.

Sven had drifted away a little as things progressed. "I'm sure this conversation is inspiring their confidence in us," he muttered as Jace dropped back next to him.

"Dude, if you can't trust an Explorer Team in a civvie ship making superhero jokes to save your ass, who _can_ you trust?"

"Exactly, Doc!"

He sighed, expression wavering somewhere between venom and resignation. "I was being sarcastic, dumbass." Lance snickered, Hunk shrugged, and Keith shot them all a look suggesting it might be a good time to shut up.

It didn't actually appear the conversation was discouraging Syndar at all. In fact, she was looking over them with a glint of thoughtful calculation in her eyes. "We have to neutralize that carrier somehow. Are you Explorer Teams really as crazy as they say you are?"

"Yes," half the team answered at once.

"Hell yeah we are."

"Nope. Crazier "

Grimacing, Keith nodded, not that she needed his confirmation by this point. "I'm afraid so, Captain. We've… well, we won't go there right now." The escape from Sorthal was jumping right back into his thoughts, but they had bigger problems. "What do you have in mind?"

"We had a cargo ship here resupplying us when the pirates showed up. They captured it when it left. Herded it right into one of their bays." She paused for a moment, looking pointedly at the _Firecrown_. "If we could get our marines aboard that carrier…"

A slow grin crept over Keith's face, and he saw it mirrored on the others. Oh yes. This they could handle easily. "Get them ready then, Captain. We'll get it done."

*****

Arus wasn't known as a military power, but it had never been a soft target, either. Not _before_. They knew the universe was dangerous. They knew they couldn't solely rely on the forbearance of their neighbors… especially when those neighbors included the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Supremacy. But peaceful diplomacy had kept them safe so far. Had they been fools to believe it would last? Perhaps, but it was too late to worry about that now.

It was still unclear how exactly the attack could have come so quickly, with so little warning. Radar stations had gone silent, and many of the automated defenses simply hadn't activated. Which… shouldn't have been possible. Genetic authorization was used for those systems. Those in charge of the facilities were trying to keep the systems failure quiet; better for the people to think the onslaught had just been that overwhelming than for them to know the truth.

It was enough of a morale blow to the troops themselves…

The forces of the Crown were only now gathering into some semblance of order, falling back to one of the few staging points still intact. Satara Mountain was heavily reinforced, all but undetectable by sensors, and had two full wings of front-line fighters on standby.

Two wings wasn't much to work with.

Rexala Kai Metair, First General of the Bright Angels, paced the hangar as she watched the technicians work. She was watching, but not really seeing. Her mind was on the enemy force estimates she'd been given, the latest report from her own spotters and information being fed back from the Golden Knights—the ground troops were watching the skies while evacuating civilians. There wasn't much else they _could_ do until the enemy was deprived of air superiority. But how were they going to do that? The Drules had a whole fleet of capital ships. Arus had one, and she wasn't even sure if it was intact.

"Has anyone been able to make contact with the _Spirit of Harmony_ yet?"

"No, General. We're still trying."

Of course they were. She didn't even look at the aide who'd responded. "Try harder." The warship had been away on a diplomatic mission to a neighboring system. Had it rushed back to help and run into the teeth of the Drule fleet? Had it even heard they'd been attacked?

_We don't have time. It would be nice to have, but we can't count on it and we can't wait much longer._

She finally stopped pacing, looking up at the fighter in front of her. What they had right now was enough for a surgical strike, so that was what they'd do.

"We will strike at their command ship." Her aides startled; she supposed, them not being privy to her thoughts, it had been a bit abrupt. No matter. "Hit and run attacks. Their warships lack our speed and their fighters lack our skill. If we can get them chasing us rather than firing on the civilians, so much the better."

Answering nods greeted her. It was a dangerous plan, but it was a _plan_ after so much scrambling and retreat. They would do their duty to Arus. They would bloody the invader, and with luck, their deeds would turn the tide of the war.

"We launch at dawn."


	15. Counterstrikes

It took a little over an hour to get the troops briefed and aboard the _Firecrown_. Captain Syndar was on the bridge; her people were packed tightly in the cargo hold. Echo Fox Security was a company of one hundred marines, all of whom were intensely _irritated_ at how the last week had been going for them. And now they were all stuffed together like sardines aboard a tiny _Endeavor_ -class that couldn't possibly be less like a troop cruiser. The venomous energy was palpable.

Keith didn't envy the pirates one bit.

"Alright, everyone got the plan?"

"Yes sir," Sven answered immediately as Lance looked up from his preflight checks and gave a thumbs-up.

"Fuck yeah."

There was a short crackle of static as Hunk chimed in. "Shoot down the bad missiles, open the cargo doors once we're in their bay, laugh our butts off?"

"Yeah, something like that." Actually it pretty much was exactly like that. Shaking his head, Keith turned to Captain Syndar, who looked a little uncomfortable. He'd offered her the vacant gunnery seat, but she'd declined, saying being on the bridge was strange enough without sitting down. Fair enough. "Sounds like we're good to go, Captain. Is there anything else you'll need from us?"

She considered that for a moment. "I have to assume we're going to need everyone we've got to take this carrier. I'm not about to let any of you spacers help with the combat, but if one of you could come along as our comms liaison it would be helpful."

Oh would it? Keith couldn't help grinning at that. "I believe I've got just the person for you." He flipped the comm switch. "Doc! Where are you?"

"Staying in my quarters and not getting hurt, boss." Jace's tone dripped with irritation.

"Not this time, Gregory. Suit up, you're going with them as comms liaison. And an extra medic, if needed."

"…Wait, really?" Even as he spoke, there was a clicking in the background that Keith was pretty certain was a gun belt being strapped on.

"Do I really have to repeat myself, Doc? Move it."

"Better fucking _believe_ I'm moving."

Lance looked up from the preflight checks, grinning. He was slightly jealous that Jace got to go snipe at pirates, but he was going to get to do more fancy flying so it balanced out. Next to him, Sven looked a bit less pleased by the situation. "Be careful, please."

"Aww, bromance."

"Can it, McClain," Keith snapped; it looked like Sven had been on the verge of saying something similar, though probably much more polite.

He hadn't preemptively told their medic to can it, which had been a significant oversight. "I'm always careful. Not like you people with your cat-pigs and thorns and freezing water puzzles."

"You were part of the thorns, dude!"

"You were the one who got _stabbed by them._ "

"Don't forget the others and their lightning rods." Keith couldn't help a slight smirk.

Apparently that was what it took to get Flynn on the comms. "No, it's okay if we forget that."

Sven nodded emphatically. He did not want to think about the lightning gauntlet ever again, if he could help it. "Can we focus, please?"

"Yeah, how about you people just focus and don't get shot down while we're having all the fun slugging pirates?"

Syndar was looking around at all of them, all too clearly trying to decide if she even wanted to ask what was going on. Keith wasn't going to volunteer anything; they _had_ forewarned her they were just as crazy as advertised. "All right. Let's go. Echo Fox, _Firecrown_ is ready to depart." With a screech of protest, the dented bay doors slid open… as far as they'd go, anyway. It would do. "McClain, take us out. Fly like we're trying to escape their blockade, but don't get too far from that carrier."

Lance nodded. "Heading towards the carrier." The engines spooled up with a shriek, and the _Firecrown_ launched from the bay.

It didn't take long for the pirates to notice.

"Fighters incoming on an intercept pattern. Routing extra power to shields." Flynn's voice went flat. "It'll slow us down, might make us easier to capture. Oh no."

"Oh _noes!"_ Lance agreed in his most dramatic tone, angling them away from the fighters. A round of snickers went through the bridge as Keith shook his head. Now that they were moving, he was too on edge to laugh.

"I really hope this works," he said quietly, drawing a sympathetic look from Sven.

"It'll work."

Everything was going according to plan so far, at least. Two more fighters were shadowing the first two, moving to cut off their initial evasion attempt, but they hadn't fired yet. "Engineering, report."

"Detecting missile locks, but they ain't firin'."

"They seem a little reluctant to get close. Maybe flyboy should mock them about how he's about to break their blockade, _again."_

"Dude, now that's just spiteful."

"We've hit the intel failure trifecta, I _am_ spiteful."

"I'm great at mocking," Lance said brightly as he pulled them around again. Making the easiest moves to avoid the fighters was aiming them straight at the carrier in the distance. "They're trying to force us in the carrier's direction. I could get us out of it, but I guess I have to be a crappy flier."

"Yes," Captain Syndar agreed dryly. "The plan won't work very well if you accidentally escape from them."

"Keep it steady, McClain."

"Steady," he repeated with a low growl, gritting his teeth. All his instincts were screaming at him. It would be so easy to shake these guys, but that wasn't his job right now. His job was to do the exact opposite of, well, his usual job. And it sucked.

"We don't have to make it easy on them, but let's stick to the plan…" Keith frowned slightly. "…for a change."

"We always stick to the plan, boss! The plan's just usually kinda crazy."

Sven raised a skeptical eyebrow at the comms as if Hunk could actually see him. "I disagree with that statement. When do we ever have an actual plan?"

"Depends," Flynn offered, "how far in advance do we have to come up with it before it's considered a plan?"

Syndar eyed Keith, who was shaking his head in exasperation, again. "Are they always like this?"

"Unfortunately, yes." That got Sven's skeptical look turned on him, too—as if he was _really_ that much better.

As the others debated, Lance had been making a few half-assed evasive maneuvers that the fighters easily cut off. They were getting close now. Too close, really. He made a _real_ evasive maneuver to get a little distance, and one of the Sparrows fired a stream of glittering tracer rounds across their bow. Blue-white light splashed over them as the warning shot was vaporized by their shields.

Static crackled through the bridge; one of the pirates was broadcasting on an open frequency. "You're already fish in a barrel, _Endeavor_ -class. Don't be idiots. We're gonna open our bay doors, and you're gonna fly right in… or we'll scatter you over a couple square kilometers of space."

Lance growled again and tightened his grip on the controls. He wanted nothing more than to make these amateurs eat those words… _soon_. They'd get theirs very soon. He lined the _Firecrown_ up with the landing lights flashing on the carrier and glanced back at Keith. "Okay, so we're flying right in. This is the best thought out plan we've ever had."

The fighters fell in to hurry them along as they approached the carrier. Too close, again. Lance gritted his teeth harder as they actually bumped the _Firecrown,_ a constant blaze of blue light washing over them as they moved inside the shields.

"They're gonna pay for that," Keith growled.

"Fucking morons," Lance agreed, correcting their course from the jostling. Ship-to-ship contact was, aside from being a fairly bad idea on safety grounds even in zero-g, a calculated insult. "We're just waltzing in, it's making them cocky."

"Well," the bossman said with a dark smirk, "they're in for a shock, aren't they?"

Syndar was flicking her fingers against her thighs in what seemed to be a nervous gesture. Looking more carefully, Keith saw sharp black talons extending and retracting. "My people have a few hull breach charges. Once we're in, we'll blow the bay door so you can get back out. Don't wait around."

"We'll be ready." The _Firecrown_ getting back out to deal with the fighters was an important bit of the plan in itself. The more chaos, the better. The fact that it would be _very_ satisfying to splash some of these bastards was just an added bonus.

The carrier bay door slid open, and despite the crowding from the fighters Lance kept their course steady. At the last moment the Sparrows peeled away, and they settled into a smooth landing on the scorched steel of the bay floor.

The doors clanged shut behind them.

"Power down the engines. Have that jump start ready to go." Keith turned to Syndar. "Okay, Captain. It's all you now."

She nodded. "Good luck, Commander." With that she ran back to join her people, dark feathers streaming behind her.

Lance watched her go, then stretched and rolled his shoulders with a slight groan. "Man, flying crappy really tenses me up." Keith snickered, and Sven rolled his eyes with an affectionate grin.

"Only a couple of guards here to greet us," Flynn reported. "They're either arrogant or understaffed."

"Or both," Hunk suggested. "You groundpounders ready to party?"

There was a brief stretch of silence, then Jace responded. " _So_ ready, giant donut dude. Spring 'em."

Grinning, Hunk hit the cargo release button. Before the _Firecrown_ 's cargo doors had even finished opening, one hundred pissed off marines were flooding the bay like a swarm of angry wasps.

…Like there were other kinds of wasps, but anyway.

The chaos was visible on their external monitors. Both pirate guards had frozen in shock as the marines offloaded. One was scrambling to open the inner hatch—having a blazer rifle pointed at his head was definitely helping his attitude. The other ran to what looked like a comms panel, probably trying to sound an alarm. Several bullets beat him there, leaving the panel a smoking wreck.

"I almost feel sorry for 'em."

"I don't."

"Almost!"

"Charges are up," Jace reported as the inner hatch cycled open. "Ten seconds once we're in. Get out there and blow some fighters, and watch your fucking backs."

"Bring the engines up," Keith ordered. "McClain, the moment those doors open, _fly_. Let's show these pirates how it's done."

As if he really had to be told that. "Yeah, time to show these idiots what _real_ flying looks like."

It took a remarkably short time for the marines to pour through the inner hatch, and the echoing _clang_ as it shut coincided with the howling shriek of the engines coming back online. "Engines firing." Flynn's smirk was nearly audible. "Don't get hit."

Was that a challenge? Oh, that was totally a challenge. Smirking himself, Lance hit the throttles.

The bay door evaporated in a wave of flame, and the _Firecrown_ shot through it into the fray.

*****

_Station security is boring, I said. What I wouldn't give for some action, I said._

Captain Syndar sprinted down the _Leyte's_ main corridor, ducking and weaving in case anyone turned up to shoot at her. So far the pirates seemed more interested in running away. Good choice, in her opinion, though surrendering would've been even better.

It was all rushing back to her in the heat of the moment. She hadn't been in real combat for nearly two years. Several tours on the front line with the Andromeda Vanguard had won her a nice quiet waystation to babysit… and rapidly get bored of. Now if she could just _not_ get herself killed here, maybe she'd request a transfer back to the front.

Maybe.

Maybe she'd retire.

"Delta Platoon reports starboard hangars secure. Moving to port."

That was a start. Her people had been peeling off as they moved through the ship, spreading through the carrier as rapidly as possible. She had no idea how well-equipped these pirates were, so they had to assume surprise was their only advantage. Surprise and sheer, overwhelming spite. Her own Able Platoon was heading for the bridge; she was leading the pack. With any luck, taking out the pirate leadership would end whatever resistance the rest of them felt like putting up.

Without luck… well, they'd still have the bridge.

Helpfully, the carrier's decks were clearly marked, and within five minutes of breaching the inner hull they'd reached the hatch to the bridge. About a dozen pirates were either handcuffed or dead in their wake. Not near enough. "It's been too easy. Assume they've all fallen back to here… either they'll freak when we come through or things will get ugly, and I'm betting on ugly. Dawson, come open this door."

"Roger that." The platoon's tech specialist came up and started hacking into the access panel.

While he worked Syndar looked over her people, eyes narrowed. They knew what to do; they'd drilled this enough they could all probably storm a bridge in their sleep. The only question was casualties. "Standard procedure. Gregory, hang back until you get the all clear."

"Sure." The Explorer Team medic slowly lowered his hand from his sidearm. He'd been all ready to charge with them. "Be careful in there, I only brought so many bandages." That earned him a playful elbow from the nearest trooper, which he returned with a smirk.

"Override successful. On your order, Captain."

Syndar looked over at Squad Three. They had the flashbang grenades. At their nods, she nodded as well. "Now!" The hatch slid open, half a dozen flashbangs sailed through, and her people surged through the hatch in a wave of light and thunder.

It went about as well as could be expected, really.

She'd been right; the pirates had been falling back to here. And there were a _lot_ of them—they outnumbered her people at least two to one. To make matters worse, somewhere along the line they'd ripped many of the auxiliary consoles out of the bridge, leaving a wide open floor with no cover to speak of in sight. It wasn't great. And several of the pirates fired blindly despite being stunned, dropping a handful of her people and a couple of their own with unfocused fire.

None of that was going to make them any actual match for a full platoon of pissed off Alliance marines, but at least they could say they tried. The flashbangs alone weren't going to buy enough time to get this mess under control, though… Syndar grinned. Good thing they had one other trump card to play.

_Poor bastards, they've got us right where we want them._

Pulling her helmet off—and throwing it at the nearest pirate just to add to the chaos—she let her feathers fan out winglike behind her and gave an inhuman screech. Several of the pirates outright screamed and dropped their guns, as if they'd never seen a half-breed before. Several others staggered back as the dizzying frequency hit them. Either way, her people knew damn well what to do, and were cuffing the afflicted pirates before they could recover.

Being half Ocypian wasn't the _only_ reason for her success in the infantry, but it certainly didn't hurt.

The brief firefight, if it could be called that, was winding down now. People didn't usually become pirates because of their willingness to die in a hopeless battle. As she retrieved her helmet and watched her people mopping up, one pirate who'd ostensibly surrendered tried to make a run for it, bolting for the entry hatch.

Where did he think he was going? Hard to say. Not that it really mattered—as he disappeared through the hatch, there was a burst of swearing and a few dull thuds, then he came sailing right back onto the bridge.

Gregory appeared in the hatchway and crossed his arms. "You could've just _said_ you were done in here, you know. Your messenger kind of sucked."

…Okay, so _that_ was why Commander Kogane had picked him to come along. "We weren't done in here, but I suppose you can come in. Welcome to the party."

"Hell of a party." The medic immediately went to one of the injured marines, digging through his medkit with one hand while checking vitals with the other. "Gotta say, and I mean this purely professionally, that bird thing was pretty hot."

Several of her people snickered; the thought of threatening to purely professionally rip his balls off for that came and went. "Thank you, I think. Why don't you check in with your team before I demonstrate it on _you?"_

His eyes widened slightly and he became very interested in his comm set. "Bridge is secure, you people still intact out there? You _better_ be." A brief pause. "They've splashed three fighters. Out of ammo now, but they've got shields holding and a nice little parade going."

Syndar had found her way to the main viewscreen while Gregory was making his report. Sure enough, the _Firecrown_ was clearly visible weaving its way between fighters, practically toying with them even though it wasn't the one with the weapons. As she watched, the Endeavor broke away and sped up, the Sparrows scrambling behind it like a flock of confused ducklings.

_Huh. Maybe they really are that_ good. _And that crazy._

"Anderson, take the guns. Gregory, warn your friends that we're going to deprive them of their entourage." She considered that message for a moment. "I hope that won't disappoint them too much."

"It will."

*****

Lance was thoroughly enjoying himself. It wasn't that he was showing off… just because he _could_ push the clunky _Endeavor_ -class shuttle into maneuvers a fighter pilot would envy, just because he _could_ have these idiots who'd called them fish in a barrel dancing like puppets on a string trying to keep up… okay, maybe it was that he was showing off. Just a little.

"They're getting the guns up," Jace reported. "Try not to fly _into_ any bullets while you're out there mocking these pricks, I will _never_ let you live it down."

"Pfft, we've got shields."

"Flyboy, if you fly us into capital-caliber bullets because _we've got shields_ , I will come up there and _personally_ toss you out an airlock."

"I'm not going to! Sheesh. Tough crowd." As the fighters tried to split into a pincer formation for about the tenth time, he brought them around and flew straight at the carrier. "Just tell your new besties not to miss, Jace."

Nearly before he'd even finished the statement, the carrier's turrets blazed to life. A stream of heavy slugs hit one of the Sparrows and cut through one wing, which wouldn't have much mattered in space if it weren't for the fuel tank contained there. The fighter exploded.

"Nice carrier you've got here," came Captain Syndar's voice over an open frequency. "If anyone wants to surrender, we'll open a bay for you."

None of the fighters seemed inclined to take her up on it. But the display did seem to have convinced them they didn't want a fight… the remaining fighters broke off, their afterburners leaving white streaks of flame in the darkness.

Lance frowned, watching them vanish, tensing in case they turned around to try to catch the _Firecrown_ by surprise. But they didn't. "I think they're retreating."

"Love to know where they think they're retreating _to_." Flynn's eyes were locked on his own monitors as the Sparrows disappeared from radar.

Hunk came up and looked over his shoulder. "Probably another carrier intel thinks ain't out there."

"Yeah, probably." Truthfully he had a pretty good idea what they were doing; while fighters were never truly hyperspace-capable, most could be fitted with a 'hyperskip' drive that allowed them to slip in for just a few light years. Most pirates—the ones who _hadn't_ somehow dug up an actual carrier to stage from—used them extensively. All in all, he might not know where the Sparrows were going, but he knew they were now someone else's problem.

Maybe that was why Kogane sounded frustrated. "Yeah. There they go." There was a dull _thump_ that might have been him punching his armrest. "Okay, how are things going on your end, Doc?"

"They're still working on securing the cargo bays. Captain says you can come pick me up if you want, their medics can handle things, they'll be doing a room-by-room sweep and that'll take awhile. I'd ask to join 'em anyway, but you people might leave me here."

"How will the marines get back to the station when they're done?"

"There are shuttles here—and that other cargo ship she told us they captured."

"Okay." Keith was in fact frustrated that they'd let the fighters escape, but still. Given the mission objectives they'd done pretty well… he managed a small smirk. "McClain, take us back in, let's make a pickup."

"Do we have to?" Lance asked, and Sven shot him a look of disapproval that could have put several Academy instructors to shame. He answered with an unapologetic grin, though it faded slightly as the comms crackled.

"Think about it, bro. If we don't pick him up we'd hafta deal with him bein' right about something."

"And he'll catch up with us and murder us."

"Both good points."

"Not to mention shots we don't need…"

"Don't give him ideas, boss."

"You assholes know you have the comms open, right?"

"Actually yes."

Their second landing on the carrier was much more agreeable, what with the lack of fighters jostling them. And not having to pretend to be bad at flying. Syndar had opened up a different bay, since blowing the door had left the last one pretty much unusable. Lance leaned back and stretched, much less tense this time. "Get a move on, Jace. Meter's running."

"Oh, fuck you." The medic appeared at the inner hatch and ran for the ship; a minute later he arrived on the bridge, walking up and swatting Lance on the back of the head. He was grinning, though. "That was awesome!"

"Fuck yeah it was!" Lance laughed, then rubbed the back of his head and glared slightly. "And _ow_."

Flynn interrupted before they could get started. "As much fun as that was, we're down to something just shy of fumes here. We'd better get back and refuel."

Keith grimaced, then nodded. "McClain, back to the station. Let's refuel and resupply what we can."

Firing the engines back up, their pilot shook his head. "We just got here. Now I _really_ feel like a taxi driver."

"I'm sure Doc will buy you a cabbie hat when we get back to Earth."

"…Boss, I have way better things to spend my money on."

"Like what?"

"Don't ask him that!" Lance groaned.

"You really shouldn't ask him that," Sven agreed.

Keith arched an eyebrow, looking between them. "And why shouldn't I?"

"Oh let's see." Jace glowered at nothing in particular, counting on his fingers. "Hookers, beer, food, gym time, t-shirts with rude words on them, souvenir shot glasses," Sven unbuckled and started walking over, "tiny sculptures of penguins frolicking, baseball caps that don't fit," Lance stood and turned to face him, "books about 22nd century spaghetti farming…"

At pretty much the same moment, Lance whacked him on the back of the head while Sven got in range to flick his ear. "That. That right there is why you don't ask him that."

…Good reason. "Spaghetti farming?" Keith repeated blankly, then his head snapped up. "Wait, hookers? You're a _medic!"_

"…And?" Jace gave the boss a look that way just _daring_ him to answer that.

Either he didn't catch it, or he took the dare. "Diseases?"

"Boss, not that anyone's shocked you've never spent time with one, but that's a fucking archaic stereotype that—"

"—Language," Sven interrupted in an almost bored tone—

"—Viking, he insulted the honor of my hookers!"

"I did _not_ insult their honor. Your sanity, on the other hand…"

"And so what if he did?! Don't use dishonorable words to defend their honor!"

The _Firecrown_ had remained flying as Lance got up to give their medic his well-deserved smack, and had overshot the station by… well, quite a bit. As the engines continued burning, the fuel status light flickered on the piloting console—but nobody noticed until Flynn interrupted the argument, a shrill alarm audible in the background. "Station. _Now_. Don't make me come up there!"

"…Crap." Lance vaulted back into his seat and brought them around, shaking his head.

Jace was staring at Sven in disbelief. "…We'll make a human out of you yet, dude. It's gonna be a long, hard journey, but we'll do it."

"I _am_ human. I'm just a human with manners."

Getting them back on course, Lance looked over his shoulder to join back in—and possibly to question that assertion—when a belated realization hit him. "Yeah, you even know who Iron Man is. …How do _you_ know who Iron Man is?"

Sven blinked. "I read graphic novels as a child."

"Viking," Hunk objected, "they're called comic books."

"No, they're not. There are comic books and then there are graphic novels."

"No, there's comics and then there's bigger comics."

"No—"

The bridge lights went out.

In fact, every non-essential system on the bridge went out.

"Oh. Oh no." Flynn's voice was utterly deadpan. "We're critically low on fuel. Who could have seen that coming?"

"…Sorry, sir." Sven went back and sat at his monitor, secretly relieved to be rescued from the discussion.

"Not one _bit_ sorry." Smirking, Jace dropped into the empty command chair.

Flynn laughed. "Yes you are, you're just not apologizing."

Eyeing Jace sitting in _his_ chair, Keith privately agreed with Flynn's assessment. Whether this was adrenaline from dealing with the pirates, a collapse in discipline with their mission nearly over, or just his team _being themselves_ was impossible to say. Whatever it was, he'd feel much better about it without the specter of being stuck adrift in space. "Get us to the damn station already, McClain. Before we lose something critical."

"We're almost there." The _Firecrown_ 's engines gave a howl that was more like a final whimper, and they glided their way back to the docking bay.

*****

With the siege broken, Echo Fox Waystation was very quiet. Given its location and purpose, there was no sign of a civilian population anywhere in the vicinity. Nothing aboard but essential facilities and supplies. It was hardly a place to relax after a grueling mission; it was suitable for its task of provisioning scout ships, and not much more.

But, for the moment, it was what they had.

Flynn had arranged for refueling, then gone off to explore. He'd only been on a handful of _Cache_ -class stations before, and he'd always been much too busy to wander about. What he really wanted to see was the generator— _Caches_ were powered by ancient magnetic mirror reactors, gifted by the Kolaliri when Earth's fusion technology had been in its infancy—but he highly doubted he'd be given approval, and he didn't want to get in the way. He made his way to the concourse deck instead.

It was almost deserted. The exchange and the commissary were empty. A small group of Bataxi 'pilgrims' had an enclave nearby, selling small luxuries like books and spices; that wasn't unusual for deep space outposts, but nobody was taking them up on it just now. On the far end of the deck a small circle of off-duty workers were kicking a soccer ball around. He imagined there would usually have been groups of marines milling about, but _they_ would be otherwise occupied for awhile yet.

What passed for the station's bar—maybe the _most_ essential facility—was at the far end of the concourse, and just as quiet as everywhere else. He counted three people. Two were sitting at a table and having a hushed argument; he thought he heard the words _quarterback_ and _beat the spread_. The third was an alien sitting alone at the bar, pale green fingers wrapped around a tall glass.

The bartender noticed him and motioned him in. "You're with the Explorer Team, right? Come on in, have one on the house."

Now _that_ was a logical progression he'd never expected to hear. With a small grin he took a seat at the bar. "That happy to have some excitement around here?"

"You kidding? This place is usually allergic to excitement." She indicated the bottles behind her. "Have a preference?"

"Not at all." As soon as he said it, the thought occurred to him that Lance would be mortified. Maybe he should take the opportunity to learn something. "You have a recommendation?"

"Always go with the Dark Pegasus 7, if you ask me." At his nod, she poured a glass and pushed it over, and he tried a cautious sip.

_Tastes like… beer. Sorry, flyboy._

At least _that_ part of the matter was normal. Being here felt a bit strange, uncomfortable… it was funny how quickly things changed. Prior to being banished to the Explorer Team, he'd served on two very different mainline vessels. Downtime on stations like this was about the only commonality between pirate-hunting frigates and merchant marine cargo haulers. Now, apparently, he was back to it again. Was he feeling nostalgic?

…No. Definitely not.

He hated downtime, at least when there were more interesting things to do, and this mission had certainly not been lacking for _interesting_. The only thing interesting here was…

_Know what? You may as well take advantage while you're here. Who knows what comes next on this crazy ride?_

Finishing his beer and nodding to the bartender, he went in search of the station's reactor.

*****

The interstellar age had resurrected a surprising number of extinct institutions, and one of the crowning examples was 'snail mail'. Subspace communications _were_ a thing, but it turned out transmitters only had so much data capacity and averaged around the size of a house; not exactly convenient. The Alliance subspace network prioritized military and government communications, and civilian subspace facilities tended to only link a small number of planets. Physical cargo circuits, on the other hand? They were everywhere.

More often than not, it was just as efficient to write a damn letter.

That was Jace's habit, and he'd finished and sealed it up before thinking about the fact that the station's subspace transmitter probably _wasn't_ doing a whole lot of anything just now. Oh well. Before long it would certainly be occupied with Captain Syndar giving intel a good ass-chewing, anyway. He went looking for the station's drop box.

Asking around got him pointed to one of the lower decks, a forest of steel girders that he would've pegged as incomplete construction if it weren't on a fucking space station. It better not be incomplete, anyway. It looked more like a service floor of some sort. But on the plus side, there were _windows_.

Looking out the nearest viewport he could see the carrier in the distance, a faint glimmer of gray against the darkness. Which just annoyed him all over again. The marines were probably almost done by now…

He could've stayed. He should've stayed. You could never have too many medics. And the marines were _his_ people, weren't they?

…Weren't they?

Jace resented the fuck out of everything about this stupid assignment. A fucking Explorer Team. He wasn't over it, he wasn't going to be over it. He didn't belong here. _He_ wasn't the one who'd fucked up. And finally there he'd been, sent to a nice normal line unit for a few wonderful moments, falling back into the groundpounder banter like he was back on Athales with the Regulars…

And they'd bored him.

Fuck.

He hadn't really gotten attached to this bullshit assignment, had he?

"Get it together, asshole," he muttered to his reflection in the window. "You'll never hear the end of it if you _stop_ bitching about this job."

Frowning, he looked at the letter in his hand. It wasn't the only thing he'd been writing lately. His transfer request was almost finished—he really had no idea if it could accomplish anything or not, if there was any recovery from being banished to an Explorer Team, but it couldn't hurt to try. Unless he changed his mind.

Of course he wasn't going to change his mind.

He was definitely thinking about it.

"Porra…"

Why would this come on being stuck here in the middle of fucking nowhere? He should be infuriated to set foot on a station like this, it was the very _worst_ of this job. He belonged on the ground, in the middle of battle, not on some spaceborne tin can.

Or not…

He couldn't leave, really. What would these people do without him? Probably eat giant maple bacon donuts and ignore scratches until they turned funny colors. Okay, they did that anyway. But who would fix them up afterwards? Some other medic who'd probably earned his spot fair and square and didn't know which was the business end of a syringe? And Sven might literally _die_. He'd lose the immunity he was building, hear someone swearing, and spontaneously combust into a pile of spoons.

Yeah. Yeah, that was his story and he was sticking to it. Maybe he wasn't going anywhere after all.

_Maybe you're not gonna run away from the only person who actually seems to like you. Again._

Scowling, he flipped the switch on his commset. "You're welcome, Viking!"

"…Pardon?"

"You heard me." Jace switched the comms off and went looking for the gym.

*****

The tunnels were dark and damp, and just chilly enough to be uncomfortable.  They had been created as escape routes, and a possible temporary hiding place if the castle came under attack. They had never been intended for the number of people they now held: for two days the Golden Knights had been leading every survivor they could find from the nearby villages, and even some from the capital ten miles away. As large as the main tunnel was, it was crowded with people, huddled together and shivering as much from fear as cold.

King Alfor stood in the mouth of an adjoining tunnel, looking over the scene with a grim set to his jaw. Though despite it all, warmth sparked in his eyes whenever they fell on his daughter; Allura was moving amongst the people, distributing blankets and warm drinks as best she could. Their supplies weren't meant to accommodate so many, but they could last a few days.

After that? Well… something would have to change. Either the invaders would sate their bloodthirst and leave, or…

_Or what?_

The question went unanswered. Footsteps echoed in the tunnel behind him. "King Alfor! King Alfor… Your Highness…" A young Golden Knight skidded to a halt in front of him, bowing low, panting from exertion. He was still wearing his ceremonial armor—the delicate filigree and gleaming gems looked downright ridiculous here.

"Catch your breath, seden," he instructed after glancing at the rank stars on his shoulder. "You mustn't injure yourself. What do you have to report?"

After taking a few moments to recover, the boy straightened. "The Bright Angels launched a counterattack on the Drule fleet this morning. It…" He swallowed hard. "It went very poorly, my King."

Alfor clenched his jaw. He'd heard of the plans for the counterattack, and had known it was a long shot. That didn't make hearing it any easier. "Go on. Tell me everything."

The knight lowered his head. "The Angels attacked what was believed to be the enemy command ship. They did inflict significant damage, and succeeded in separating it from the fleet. Then…" He paused, visibly steeling himself. "The _Spirit of Harmony_ engaged, sire."

"The _Spirit of Harmony_ is here?" Nobody had been able to make contact with the warship since the attack. But the brief flicker of hope was tempered by the knight's warning. The counterattack had not gone well. "Was it lost?" he asked calmly, hoping to ease the boy's mind; he looked like he wanted anything but to continue the report.

It didn't help. "Y… yes, sire. But you don't understand. It engaged our fighters."

For a moment, Alfor was too stunned to respond. Only a moment. It answered so _much_. He slowly closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. "I see." If the warship had been compromised, the invaders would have had access to the defense network. He couldn't quite believe any Arusian would willingly cooperate with the enemy, but they wouldn't have needed to. The Drules were bombarding civilian settlements, they wouldn't hesitate to draw all the blood they needed to get past the genetic safeguards. "Do you know its status now?"

"Yes, sire. The Angels prioritized denying our own weapons to the enemy. It was brought down over the mountains, but it bought the command ship time to escape danger."

Alfor nodded. It wasn't exactly a victory, but it wasn't a full defeat either. "And the Angels?"

"Routed, my King. They fought to the last."

_So be it._ Murmuring a prayer for the lost, the king opened his eyes again. There was only one hope left… perhaps there had always been only one hope, but their resources and time to hold out for it were slipping away. He was going to have to act himself. "Rest a bit and take that armor off before you return to the surface. You can't protect anyone if you don't see to your own welfare." He gave the knight's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Arus will endure. We will see to it."

The boy didn't look fully convinced, but he did look slightly encouraged. "Yes, sire."

Watching the knight go, Alfor turned and beckoned Allura to him; she'd already been on her way, having noticed the report. One look at his grim expression was enough. "More bad news?" she asked quietly.

"The _Spirit of Harmony_ was captured. It and the Bright Angels are lost." He wouldn't—he _couldn't—_ try to shelter her from the truth. She gasped softly, but nodded in understanding. "Still no word from the other provinces, for good or ill."

"It hasn't been that long."

"True enough." It seemed unlikely things were any better elsewhere, but at least some of the provincial military forces might be intact. The Drules couldn't have hit everywhere at once. "We could hear from someone else any moment."

Allura nodded, looking up at him. "What do we do now?"

"I must leave the tunnels in your care." He brushed her hair from her eyes and smiled gently. "Keep our people safe, and be strong, Allura. I know you will."

Her eyes widened. "What? Where are you going?"

"I can't answer that." He didn't fully know where his tasks now would take him. "But I have to oversee what's left of the defenses, and with any luck…" His hand went to his pendant for a moment, an unconscious gesture. "…I may be able to find us more answers."

"Answers to what?"

Alfor shook his head. He couldn't make any promises here. And if she got any time to think in the midst of all this chaos, she would figure it out easily enough.

The lions couldn't sleep forever… could they?

*****

What had once been deep within the Forest of Altair had abruptly become the edge of the woods. Only a few smoldering tree trunks remained to hint that the border had once been nearly a mile away. The flame that had been raining down seemed to have finally ended, the huge shadows that had blotted out the stars moving elsewhere. Now there was only eerie silence, and no movement to be seen.

No, perhaps a bit of movement…

A dark banewolf pushed her nose deep into the debris at the forest's outskirts, shoving dirt and broken branches aside, growling in concentration. Her snow-white mate paced around her, watching the sky, occasionally offering a low bark or yip of encouragement. What had happened was far beyond their ability to grasp, and whether the fires might come again they surely couldn't know. But they knew one thing, the most important thing.

They had a duty to the forest, and the forest would suffer no more death this day.

Finally the dark banewolf yipped in triumph, burrowing deep into the hole she'd made and dragging out a red-haired girl by her collar. She was breathing raggedly, but alive; the pale banewolf whimpered and licked her exposed skin, searching for blood, snuffling in satisfaction when he found none.

Larmina woke to a wet nose in her face.

"Okay okay, I'm up! What—" Her indignation was cut off as she realized exactly what she was looking at. Two deep golden eyes in a furry face, and sharp fangs glinting in the moonlight. "…What in the five hells?" She scrambled back and ran into something very hot, burning into her back and causing her to gasp in pain.

The huge white wolf in front of her yipped, and she felt another wet, cold snout behind her, pushing her forward and calming the burns. If anything it only threw her that much more off balance—and how could it not? She had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten here. The last thing she remembered was being in the forest. She'd been there for days, listening to the roars from above, not daring to risk leaving cover.

Now…?

The wolf retreated, sitting back on its haunches and yipping almost reproachfully at her. Something dark moved at her side; a second wolf, this one darker than the night around them. Larmina drew a long, steadying breath, studying them and trying to stay calm. Only one thing was coming to mind. She'd seen regular forest wolves before. These were certainly not _that_. Which meant…

"Are… are you banewolves?"

As soon as she asked, she felt silly. What was she expecting them to do, answer?

The black one yipped.

That was an answer.

For a moment all she could do was stare at them, stunned. They were every bit as majestic as the legends had said… but she didn't remember any legends about them understanding Arusian or rescuing lost royalty. Usually very much the opposite. Whatever she'd run into before was blocking her retreat, so finally she lowered her head slightly. "It, um… it's an honor," she whispered, swallowing hard and hoping the gesture wouldn't backfire.

_It's an honor. Nanny would_ love _seeing you treat banewolves with more respect than people._

_If Nanny's alive_.

She nearly choked on that thought.

Lifting her head, she saw the banewolves looking at her quizzically… then both dipped their heads in return. Well. They _were_ supposed to be intelligent, possibly even divine beings. May as well run with it and hope a wrong move wouldn't get her eaten.

"So um, where am I? How did I get out of the forest? Do you know?" All that got her was a confused snuffle. "Okay sure, that's fair. Do you mind if I stand up?"

More snuffles. Okay. Slowly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, she rose to her feet… and collapsed with a yelp as her shaky legs betrayed her. _Well, you've got the non-threatening part down_. Sighing, she tried again, even more slowly. It didn't feel like anything was broken, just bruised—she just had to be careful.

Making it to her feet, she slowly turned and looked around. The hot thing behind her was a charred, unrecognizable hulk. Beyond that she could see a stretch of blackened earth, and the forest… the forest was all wrong. This wasn't what the border looked like.

"Five hells…"

It hit her like a whole new wave of bombardment. She hadn't left the forest. The forest just wasn't _there_.


	16. Homeward Bound

Keith sat at the helm, monitoring the autopilot and working on his report. He hated writing reports. Command was supposed to be about doing things, taking responsibility, not filing paperwork. But after the gaps in the information they had received from intel… well, _someone_ had to fix their mess up. Sighing, he leaned back in the chair for a minute, laying the datapad on his lap.

This mission… he’d known it wasn’t going to be an easy one from the start. A bunch of wild cards shoved together under his command. He was pretty sure most thought of him as a stick in the mud. That was probably why they'd insisted on him coming to play some poker or something with the team once he finished writing his report.

It _would_ be good to relax and try to get to know them better. Only learning their quirks when the team was thrown into the thick of things, the way it had gone so far, had been nerve-wracking to say the least. They were really a good bunch when one got to the bottom line, though a couple still worried him. McClain’s short temper, Garrett’s brute size, and who knew what actually went on inside his second’s head? And that wasn’t even counting the Doc. Okay, maybe most of them worried him.

_Not going there…_

He looked over his report one last time, then clicked save. It was done. The brass wasn’t going to like it, but that was on them to deal with the inept intel department. Hopefully something would get fixed, because missing two pirate groups with carriers was… bad. Really bad. And if there were even more groups out there with carriers, someone had _better get on that_.

Checking the autopilot readings one last time, he nodded and stood. “Well, best get down there before the insanity gets worse.” _Or before someone shows up to drag me along for the ride_ ; he could think of three people who very well might.

He left the bridge and headed to his quarters, grabbing the bottle of cinnamon whisky he'd been saving for when he most needed it. No question he was going to need it now. Shaking his head and grinning slightly, he headed for the recreation room.

*****

Now that they were well and truly headed home, things had gotten a bit more relaxed on the _Firecrown_. Not that there was _really_ any less chance of something else going wrong than there had been on their way out, but still. It was all psychological, and they'd earned some winding down.

Sven had been reading in the rec room, but that hadn't lasted. Lance and Hunk had shown up with a deck of cards. Then Jace had wandered in. Then they'd convinced Flynn the engine bay could survive without him. And now Sven was standing off to the side watching his crewmates play poker, with the same conflicted fascination of a man watching a train wreck in progress.

"I still say strip poker would've been more fun," Lance grumbled as he studied his cards.

"And we still said fuck no," Jace retorted.

"Well sure, _you_ did."

" _Only_ you did, as a matter of fact," Flynn added without looking up from his own hand.

"Yeah, because after I said it the rest of you didn't have to." Jace was scowling between his hand and the board as if that would change the fact that he had nothing. Well, no, that wasn't quite true. He had something—the exact same pair of nines everyone else had, because they were sitting there on the table.

Of course, he'd scowled at every hand since they'd started. Who needed to bluff when you could just be yourself?

Flynn wasn't inclined to let him keep up the theatrics, in any case. "Not wrong… you going to bet or not?"

"Of fucking course I'm gonna bet, Tails," he snapped, tossing a few extra chips in. Which definitely hadn't been the right choice, but it wasn't as if he could just let it go.

Lance shot Flynn a sly look. "You gonna raise him?"

"Don't know yet." It wasn't even his turn. "Are you?"

"Hell yeah."

No doubt. "Nobody's stopping _you_ from stripping if you want, you know."

"Fuck yeah someone is!" Jace yelled across at them. "Nobody wants to see that!"

That certainly wasn't accurate, though letting their pilot strip probably wasn't the best idea just now. Lance smirked, winking at Flynn, who decided it was a good time to go back to his cards. "I _am_ free for shows."

"Please don't," Sven muttered.

"Some people here are no fun."

"Keep your clothes on, bro." Hunk had been unfazed by the whole discussion, and now pushed forward his own raise. "I'm takin' this one." He sat back and grinned, humming Know When to Fold 'Em. Some might have considered that a bluff, but he'd been doing _that_ every hand too. Lance didn't even hesitate before matching the bet.

Flynn did hesitate. He had a third nine in his hand, but if any one of the others was holding an eight they'd have a straight, and he also had a rather small pile of chips to risk on what had turned into a rather large raise. He'd already done the math. The odds of one of them having that eight weren't overwhelming, but they were uncomfortable, and there was Hunk being just as damned unreadable at poker as he was at everything else…

He stared at Hunk for just a moment too long, getting an odd look from Lance, then slowly shook his head. "I'm out."

Jace and Lance matched with their usual glare and smirk, and Hunk chuckled. "Good calls, I don't _really_ wanna start takin' people's shirts."

"You don't keep the clothes," Lance pointed out, pulling his jacket a little tighter.

"Good! Wouldn't fit." The big man grinned broadly and looked over at Jace, who was looking exceptionally grumpy even by his standards. "Doc, how bad didja lose?"

"…Porra." Jace tossed his _nothing_ face-up on the table.

They'd all nearly forgotten Sven was in the room, but that was enough to prompt a reminder. "Language."

"You don't even know what it _means_ , Viking!"

"I know it doesn't mean anything constructive!"

"A good fuck can be very constructive," Lance interrupted, showing his own cards: he'd wound up with a nice solid two pair, jacks and nines. "In more than one way." Sven looked mortified at that, but seemed to give up on objecting. Probably for the best.

Jace snickered. "Hey, for once you're not wrong. Just beat the giant donut dumbass, would you?"

"Sorry, bro. Almost." Hunk's grin never wavered as he displayed his own cards. He, too, had managed two pair… jacks and tens.

"Aww, man." Lance stared, then laughed, he couldn't help it. "So close! I'll get you next time."

"…I hate _all of you,"_ Flynn declared, tossing his cards down with a disgusted look. Lance's eyes widened.

"Dude, why'd you fucking fold?"

"One eight! One eight and any of you had me beat, statistically—"

"—Three of a kind, though—"

"—Flyboy, would you just deal?" Flynn glowered at Hunk, who'd dealt the last hand along with winning it. "And try to do a better job than he did." Not that it was really Hunk's fault the statistics had failed him, but…

Jace was eyeing Sven, who was still standing to the side looking bewildered but had yet to actually abandon the rec room. "Let's make the Viking deal, I don't trust you people anymore."

_What?_ "No, no." Sven shook his head emphatically, already seeing visions of the inevitable disciplinary hearings. "I'm already aiding and abetting by not turning you all in."

"…For  _what?"_

He started to say gambling, but he knew they were only playing for chips and bragging rights. Still, he'd heard more than enough about not falling in with such irresponsibility—and the closer they got to Earth, the more he kept regressing to the feeling his parents were constantly looking over his shoulder. "I… I… I don't know, but this has to be against _some_ sort of regulation."

Flynn turned to look at him, arching an eyebrow. "Holgersson, as the ranking officer in the room I'm going to need a full cite. Section and subsection." Sven blanched. "Otherwise get over here, sit down, and try having some fun."

Questioning that definition of fun didn't seem likely to get him anywhere. "Is that an order, sir?"

"Yes!"

Oh. Well then. Glaring halfheartedly around the table as the others snickered, Sven dropped into a chair next to Jace and held his hand out for the cards. Lance scooted them over, smirking. "Come on, Viking, you know you wanted to."

That… wasn't wholly inaccurate, if maybe overstating the case a little. He couldn't _say_ so regardless. "No idea why you think I wanted to join this… immoral game," he muttered unconvincingly, then looked at the cards and hesitated. He had not, in fact, done any card-playing in his life before now. "…I don't know how to do this?"

"What?"

"What, they didn't teach you poker in finishing school?"

"Haven't you at least played Go Fish?"

Sven glared much more enthusiastically at Jace, though the nice thing about Jace was that nobody here would actually _believe_ him about the finishing school. It got him the sardonic shrug he'd expected. As for the rest of it… "Fishing? Of course I've been fishing, but what do fish have to do with cards?"

Lance stared at him, then shook his head and stood, empty beer bottle in hand. "Anyone need a refill?"

"Gonna need a few gallons here," Jace suggested.

Hunk took pity on Sven; he'd seen this story before. More than a few times, in fact. The engineering corps had had their share of isolated intellectuals. "Give 'em here, bro. It's an art, yeah?" He took the cards and shuffled with a flourish. "Now you give us each two."

"I know this part, I've been watching." Sven started dealing the cards as Lance returned with five beers, smacking one down in front of each of them.

"Drink!"

"Oh…" Sven shot Jace yet another glare. "I don't drink beer anymore."

"Anymore? What the fuck do you mean anymore?" Jace snorted.

"Once was enough!"

"Give it a try," Flynn said casually as he checked his cards, "flyboy has better taste." Smirk. "Just ask him."

"I _do_ have better taste than Jace," Lance agreed; Sven gave him a doubtful look. "I'll just leave it there in case you change your mind."

Probably the best he could ask for. Sven turned over the first three cards and raised an eyebrow: the jack of spades, king of hearts, and king of diamonds stared back at him. Maybe he didn't know poker, but he was pretty certain that was a decent start.

"Well, fuck," Jace muttered, as he had every single hand.

"Not you," Lance retorted.

"Damn straight."

Was there even any point anymore? No, probably not, but they were basically asking for it… "Language," Sven mumbled.

Flynn shot him a look. "What did I say about fun?"

"Why is foul language automatically fun?"

"Because it's a shitload of fun to swear!" Lance said brightly, earning the kind of Viking eyeroll Jace usually had a monopoly on.

Flynn just shrugged. "Is complaining about it fun?"

Sven considered that for a few moments. "It's not _not_ fun, sir."

"Some people do love complaining," Lance agreed, eyeing the completely unapologetic medic across the table.

A small smile flickered at the corner of Flynn's lips. Maybe they'd come to an understanding? Then his eyes narrowed. "Call me 'sir' again and you'll be _playing_ the next hand."

_Oh, so he can give me orders but I can't call him sir?_ Sven sat back and elbowed Jace lightly. The sooner he bet, the sooner they could get off this topic.

Jace was looking between his hand and the flop with a look of mild irritation. Then he grinned and pushed a good half of his chips in. "Viking, I love you so much right now I'm not even gonna say fuck."

"You just said it!"

Hunk looked at the chips, then at the medic. That was either the best bluff or the absolute worst—the inability to tell the difference made it pretty good, actually—and neither option changed the fact that nothing in _his_ hand was going to help him here. No sense losing everything he'd just won… he did, indeed, know when to fold 'em. "Ain't touchin' that."

"Fuck it." Lance called.

"Rather not, truthfully." Flynn folded.

_Oh, good! Now these two are gonna get_ really _ridiculous._ Leaning forward a little Hunk stage-whispered, "Who've ya got?"

The chief considered that for a few moments then whispered back, "I think we're the winners here."

Solid answer.

"Just you and me, sweet cheeks," Lance taunted with his most infuriating smirk.

"Bring it on, caralho."

"Proudly."

"Viking, another card before I've gotta show him how sweet my cheeks are?"

Sven was looking between them and shaking his head. "I didn't hear that." With a bit of a dramatic pause he burned and turned the next card.

_Damn it._ Lance casually tipped back in his chair, his smile never wavering, as a completely useless five of diamonds came up. He'd been hoping for a nice ace to match the one in his hand. Or… well, anything more useful than a five of diamonds, really.

His opponent's dark eyes were fixed on him, trying to read what wasn't there to be read. Finally he nodded. "I call. You as crazy with your chips as you are in the cockpit?"

Oh, so he wanted to play it like that? "Crazy is as fun as cursing, bro."

"I'm not your bro, bro."

"You're as dudebro as it gets, bro."

Hunk couldn't stay out of this one, and didn't. "Bro big or bro home, bros!"

"Fuck yeah!"

"What?" Sven mumbled, not really expecting an answer, as Flynn sighed and pressed a palm to his forehead.

"How about you _bet_ , bro?"

"Fine." Lance pushed his entire remaining stack of chips in.

Jace's eyes narrowed slightly. "…You crazy fucker. Know what, let's do this." He pushed all of his own chips in.

"I'm so glad our pilot and our medic are such experts at risk assessment," Flynn muttered under his breath.

"I have no idea what's going on," Sven said matter-of-factly as he burned and turned the last card.

Seven of diamonds.

Lance took a very long drink of his beer. That had not been remotely helpful, and Jace was eyeing him impatiently. "Let's see 'em, Hellbent for Leather."

He laughed as he tossed his eight and ace to the table. "I got nothing."

"I do." With a smirk that Lance could almost respect, Jace displayed the two tens in his hand.

Flynn looked between Sven and Jace, slowly raising an eyebrow. "So, an elaborate act of the Viking pretending he doesn't like poker so he can rig the deck for you when you need it most? I respect it. Much better than just hiding that card up your sleeve."

"Which card?" Jace demanded, taking a long swig of his own beer. "Narrow it down."

"Rig the deck?" Sven repeated blankly.

"He's accusing you of helping me cheat, Viking. Like I'd trust you to be any good at cheating."

Lance was looking at his chips—or rather, where his chips had been sitting, since he'd just lost them all. "Well fuck me sideways. Anyone wanna let me borrow some chips?" As he spoke, Keith appeared in the doorway behind him with a bottle of cinnamon whisky and an expression that said he wasn't quite sure he wanted to walk into this after all. "Or I could strip?"

"McClain, no. Just… no."

Sven's head snapped up, all ready to try to defend his complicity in this, but their commander just moved to the table and pulled up a chair. Hunk grinned as he took the cards and started shuffling. "Hey, boss!"

"Just in time for the show, boss!" Lance winked.

"Please no stripping." After a moment's thought Sven took a small stack of Jace's chips and passed them back over.

"Knew you had it in you, Viking." Lance accepted the chips with a grin and another wink, then mimed stripping his jacket off. Sven considered the merits of the beer in front of him, but decided things weren't quite that bad. Yet.

Flynn was eyeing the new arrival. "You're late, Kogane."

"Better late than never, Kleid." Keith snuck a pile of Jace's chips too, earning him a scowl from the medic—he hadn't objected to having some stolen for the greater good of Lance not stripping, but it didn't mean he was willing to be _everyone's_ chip pinata. "You can spare it, Doc. What's the ante?"

That got a few concerned glances around the table; they hadn't been playing with an ante. Flynn waved it off and changed the subject as Sven started dealing. "Guess it was worth it, better you having to write that report than any of the rest of us. How did it go?"

"It's done," Keith answered with a shrug, pouring a glass of his whisky. "Command won't like it, but not much else we can do about it."

"Do any of us like Command right now?" Jace pointed out. "Fair's fair."

"Doc's got a point."

"They give us crappy intel, we piss them off. It's all fair."

"No argument here." Keith raised his glass in salute.

"Here's your ante," Jace declared, tossing a chip in before looking at his cards, "and I'm anti-Intel. Maybe if they had a few cards up _their_ sleeves, they'd at least find a pair of clues somewhere." He picked up his hand and made a face. "Well, fuck."

Sven laughed along with the others. "I got that joke!" He hadn't been fully comfortable with where the conversation had gone here, to be honest… but he also couldn't disagree with the sentiment. Burning the first card he flipped over a notably less impressive trio than last time: the four of clubs and seven and eight of spades.  

"I've been called anti-intelligence a few times." Hunk chuckled as he tossed a chip in.

Lance eyed him, shaking his head. "Crazy ain't stupid." He matched the bet, followed by Flynn and Keith; their commander looked wholly intent on his cards, but his second seemed a bit distracted. Lance nudged him. "Doing statistics again?"

As a matter of fact, Flynn was _not_ doing statistics again—that discussion had taken his thoughts somewhere else entirely. At the reminder that there was a card game going on here, he looked back at the table just in time to see Sven turn over the nine of hearts. That made the statistics look very bleak indeed.

Evidently not caring for that turn either, Jace folded. Hunk raised, and so did Lance, who turned and nudged him again with a little more force. "So Flynn, whatcha got?"

What he had was a jack and a king that would have been much more useful during the last hand. What he also had was a split second of mental flailing as he tried to figure out how to deal with that. "…None of your _business!"_ he half-sputtered, meeting the raise and shooting their pilot an exceptionally sullen look. _Why the hell?_

"So, nothin'?" Hunk translated, raising again as Keith quietly folded.

"Wow, you suck at that." Lance eyed the new raise and shook his head. "I'm out."

That only served to turn Flynn's glower into an outright death glare. "Suck at what?" he grumbled, "telling you to worry about your own cards?" None of that was stopping the embarrassed flush in his cheeks. _He_ knew he wasn't very good at poker, but he could've done without Lance hitting it quite that hard.

Not just Lance, either. "I don't believe that's what he was referring to you sucking at," Sven said innocently.

Nobody at the table was touching that one, thankfully. Hunk grinned across the table, leaning forward and crossing his arms. "Whatcha say, pit boss? Throw in the loser coverin' a shift, no questions asked?"

That wasn't a bet Flynn minded losing, and he pushed in enough chips to call. "I'll match that."

Sven burned and turned once more, producing a three of spades. No, that was still nothing. Hunk seemed pleased enough with it, though… he added another chip to the pot and cocked his head, hazel eyes glinting wickedly. " _And_ the loser has to eat a dozen murder pepper wings."

"Oh I think _not_." Flynn tossed his cards down. "You'd do that anyway! I'm out."

Shrugging, Hunk showed his cards: a ten and a jack, giving him a straight. "I'd say good choice, but passin' up murder pepper wings is never a good choice."

Playing that hand at all hadn't been a good choice. Flynn glowered at Lance, who shrugged unapologetically. "Hey, I would've bluffed Jace if he was hot."

" _Excuse_ me?" Jace demanded.

"It's nothing personal, just your face throws me off my game. All my games, in fact."

Torn between defending his looks and going on the offensive, there was really only one choice. "If you _ever_ try to flirt with me, you'll wake up with so many needles up your—"

"—No danger of that!"

"Why do all your threats have needles in them?" Sven asked, pushing the deck over to Hunk to shuffle. He probably should ask for lessons at some point.

"Because I have a lot of them, obviously."

"Are you excusing your own lack of creativity?"

"Hey, it's an old standby for a r…" Jace paused, his eyes sharpening. "…did you just sass me, Viking?"

Sven returned his gaze evenly, taking a moment to think about the question. "I think I did."

Immediately Jace fell back in his chair, clutching his heart and dramatically wiping away fake tears. "The Viking sassed me! Look at him, we're gonna make a real human out of him yet!"

Sigh. "Your approval tells me I ought to be ashamed of my behavior."

"Holgersson! Fun!"

"Yes s—" He bit his tongue on the reflex and grinned slightly. "Yes Chief."

That won him a return grin. "You really are learning."

"Apparently." It wasn't a bad thing.

"Holy hells," Keith said with another long drink of whisky, "you _all_ are insane…"

"And yet here you are, boss." Lance smirked. "Not gonna bail on us already, are you?"

"You're not that lucky. I can go a couple more hands before I have to get back to the cockpit. Deal us in, Holgersson."

Flynn had shot him an odd look at that, but Keith didn't pay it much mind. He did get those from his second on occasion. And the rest of the team. Regularly.

A minute later all of the odd looks moved on, as Sven finished distributing cards and turned over the first three. The five, seven, and nine of clubs.

"Seriously?"

"Oh this oughta be good."

"So what's more questionable?" Jace asked, staring at the flop. "Intel, or the Viking's dealing?"

"You can't complain about my dealing. You people forced me to do this." Sven glanced over at Flynn. "Not that I'm not having fun. I'm having _lots._ " He reached for his beer and took a small sip.

To his pleasant surprise, it did _not_ immediately knock him out of his chair.

"We have beer in the Viking!" Lance crowed.

"Yes, you have all driven me to drink."

"It's better than whatever crap he gave you, right?"

"It…" Sven hesitated a moment, looking over at Jace, who was clearly just daring him to say yes. Then he looked back at Lance. "Yes."

"Ah ha!"

Jace looked at Sven, opened his mouth to say something that probably involved the word _fuck_ , shut it, then shrugged. "I deserved that, but I'll remember it."

"I couldn't remember anything after the last time."

"You've got to build up a tolerance." Jace tossed a few chips in, frowning at his hand. He had the eight of clubs, along with a two of diamonds that was obviously just there to mock him. Playing for the perfect draw was a bad idea. He _knew_ it was a bad idea. It was a great way to lose. But what the hell? Wasn't like they were playing for—

"—Anyone else hear that?"

The room went shockingly quiet at Flynn's question. Only the hiss of the ventilation system and low hum of the engines broke the silence until Keith ventured, "Hear what?"

"I'm out this round, I'll be back." The chief stood, setting his cards face down on the table. "There's something off with the engine cycles."

_Huh_. Hunk frowned, watching the others watch him go—Keith and Sven looked confused, Lance looked appreciative. He couldn't hear anything. He also couldn't do anything with the ridiculous cards on the table. "Ain't gonna touch that mess, I'll sit here and watch the crazy." As Lance and Keith both put chips in, he took Flynn's cards—he'd be shuffling them soon enough anyway—and took a peek at them just for kicks.

_Wait, what?_

Blinking and shaking his head slightly didn't change it. The three and queen of clubs were in his hand.

_So what's urgent enough to walk away from a flush, but not urgent enough to set off the alarms?_

Nobody else had any reason for concern, and they were much more concerned with trying to throw each other off. The next card up was the eight of hearts; Jace eyed the competition with a small smirk, and raised. "You two feeling lucky?"

Keith arched an eyebrow. "I think the question is… do _you_ feel lucky, private?" Was that how the line went? It didn't sound quite right when he said it.

"That's _specialist!"_ Jace snorted. "Better talk to the guy next to you if you're worried about lucky privates."

"I'm always lucky." Lance eyed him. "Meanwhile you _pay_ for it, I don't get it."

_Not this again_. Keith groaned. "Not another discussion of the Doc's hookers, okay?"

"No discussion, just why I don't need luck." Jace looked back at Lance. "You gonna raise or what?"

"Oh, I raise." Smirk. "Bossman?"

Keith looked between them, his expression carefully neutral, and slid his entire stack of chips to the center.

With a low whistle, Lance studied his hand again. Once again he had an ace that was flatly refusing to do him any good. The five of spades was more useful, it gave him a pair, and that usually would've been more than enough to push his luck… but the hair on the back of his neck was standing up slightly.

Not that Jace was having any such problems. "This is where I'm gonna take back what's _mine_ , caralho." He matched the bet and looked to Lance.

Nope, definitely still having a bad feeling about this. "You know what, I'm folding."

"Our taxi driver doesn't have nerves of steel?" Keith asked, looking somewhat more impressed than scornful.

"My instincts say get out of the fire, I listen."

"Good." Jace snorted. "I don't want to have to treat third degree burns on your ass."

"That's fucking mutual, man."

"I love it when we can agree on things."

"Aw, we could almost be friends."

"I hate to break this up," Sven interrupted in a tone that didn't sound the least bit regretful, "but I'm going to flip over another card." He burned one more and turned over the six of hearts.

Wait, the what?

"So…" Hunk had seemed a little preoccupied since Flynn left, probably worried he'd have to go help with the engines, but that drew his attention right back to the table. "Uh, at least you've both got a straight? That's fun."

"Ah, but Jack's high." With a smug grin, Keith flipped his cards over one at a time. A ten and a jack, sure enough. "What were you saying, Doc?"

"…Jack better get some fucking rehab, that's what." Jace showed his cards and shook his head. "Six of clubs would've been too much to ask, huh Viking?"

"Yes." Sven calmly sipped his beer.

Chuckling, Keith pulled the pile of chips to himself, then slid a stack back over to Jace. "Always pay my debts, Doc."

Jace laughed, watching Hunk start to shuffle the deck. "Viking, sure you don't want in? Or are we still pretending you don't like poker?"

"I don't like poker!"

"How's that, Holgersson?" Keith wasn't sure he fully bought the protest—Jace and Lance certainly didn't—but this he wanted to hear.

Sven wasn't entirely certain he wanted to answer that. No, actually he was quite certain he didn't want to answer that. Finally he sighed. "The main point of the game is to gamble." He dialed for his most official tone. "Gambling is dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Flynn repeated from the doorway, walking back to his seat and dropping into it looking mildly disgruntled. "Being in a small lightly armored pressure vessel moving through extraplanar space at several times the speed of light while propelled by four mostly-contained miniature stars is _dangerous_."

Hunk eyed him warily as the others snickered. "Pit boss, you gotta drink either more or less." He slid the cards over to Sven. "How's the engines?"

"Nothing major, but I'd like to stay close for awhile. How about I take that shift for you when we're done here?"

"Works for me." Maybe he'd swing by and ask _exactly_ what kind of _nothing major_ had been wrong with the engines. But for the moment, there were more important things to worry about… like a commander with a very large pile of chips painting a bullseye right on him. "So Viking, how 'bout the cards?"

"Yeah," Lance grinned. "And give yourself a couple, Vikings shouldn't fear danger!"

Sven looked around the table, then at the cards, frowning. He was tempted, but… "You all don't have to corrupt me that quickly," he said finally, shooting Jace one more glare. "Maybe next time."

Smirk. "Deal."

He dealt.

*****

There was nothing wrong with the engines, of course.

There was plenty wrong elsewhere.

Flynn leaned over his console, watching the scanner input array slowly circling the crystal they'd found on Sorthal. He'd taken it from the cargo bay during the poker game, sacrificing a damn good hand for _not_ risking getting busted by Kogane. He somehow didn't think their commander would approve of the inspiration he'd been given.

_Maybe if they had a few cards up_ their _sleeves, they'd at least find a pair of clues somewhere._

Maybe having something up their own sleeves wouldn't hurt.

The scan was painfully slow—the scanner committing every nanometer of the crystal to its memory, since the actual data format was a mystery. This whole plan was a bit of a shot in the dark, truthfully. Flynn wasn't even sure if he'd be able to _do_ anything with the scan. He wasn't a systems analyst; hell, the team didn't even have one. Still, having the data seemed better than not having it, after what they'd been through to get the damned thing…

"Whatcha doing, pit boss?"

He jumped at the voice, whirling around to see Hunk's massive frame filling the doorway. _Damn it._ But he didn't miss a beat, beyond the one that was only reasonable when someone _startled_ him like that. He _could_ bluff when he had the time to think, and he'd been thinking about this for awhile. "Making a backup."

"Real stealth-like after kickin' me out of the bay?" He cocked his head. "Seems legit."

…Well this was really the last thing he needed. "You gave me your shift," he said acidly, "and I don't at _all_ care for your tone."

"Whoa!" Hunk held his hands up and stepped back. "Dude, you oughta talk about tones, yours goes downhill real quick-like. I'm not sayin' anything."

_Of course you're not_. Flynn stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on here. As usual the big man defied all his attempts at scrutiny. But he was the one who'd pressed the issue, so… he narrowed his eyes slightly. He'd press back if he had to. "Garrett, drop the act."

Hunk's hazel eyes glinted and narrowed right back. More than that, something about him… changed. Something focused and cold took command of his bearing, and his voice dropped just enough to be noticed. "Dunno what act you mean, Chief." The words were casual, but the tone dripped with unspoken threat.

It was all Flynn could do to stand his ground. _That act right there_. He was acutely aware of the weight of his sidearm. He was also acutely aware that even thinking that was much too drastic right now, but damned if Hunk wasn't _terrifying_ behind that mask.

He blinked, and it was gone. Mostly. The uncharacteristic seriousness remained, but that overwhelming sense of _threat_ had vanished. Had he imagined it? He was on edge anyway, and Hunk always threw him off balance. But somehow he didn't think so…

"I'm not saying anything," the other man repeated quietly. "Just wondering if there's something the rest of us oughta be worried about too. I mean, that's a pretty hardcore insurance policy you're takin' out." He crossed his arms. "That _is_ what you're doin', yeah?"

_Not saying anything_. Flynn tilted his head, still reflexively trying to grasp what he never had been able to before. He didn't understand Hunk. He wasn't always certain he even liked him. He was now officially _terrified_ of him. But his difficulties with Hunk as a person had little bearing on trusting him as a _teammate_. And that he'd never been given any reason to doubt.

"…More or less, yes."

Hunk didn't seem the least bit bothered by the admission. "More to this than the grunts get to hear?"

Grunts, really? As if they'd stood on rank for a moment this whole mission. "Not that anyone's informed _me_. The Alliance tells us what they think we need to know." A beep behind him announced the scan had hit a checkpoint. "I think we saw enough intel failures on this run to question their judgment on that."

Frown. "You think we can do better?"

Interesting question, that. He wouldn't have put it into words, himself. But now that Hunk had… it wasn't wrong. "I wouldn't bet against it. You know how we ended up on this team."

"I know I punched my last CO for havin' his pants down with a recruit," Hunk said brightly. "Not sure how the rest of you swung it."

Flynn blinked. "Wait, you what?" That was not _precisely_ how his file had described the incident.

"Oh." Instantly the big man went from looking pleased with himself to fairly sheepish. "Uh, I mean, I punched 'im for _excessive physical abuse of a trainee_. Yeah."

"…You weren't even trying to be convincing there."

"Nah, guess not." Shrug. "Dude had connections, they always do, yeah? Brass bounced him but wanted to keep the thing hush-hush. Offered me a Crystal Spur and early discharge, but I wanted to keep workin' on the cool hardware, so I got an Explorer Team posting and a gag order instead."

It was all Flynn could do not to snicker at the thought of Hunk with a Crystal Spur—the medal for displaying exceptional chivalry. Not out of contempt, the Spur just had a certain image associated with it, and the man did not fit it at all.

Kogane had one.

"Some gag order."

"Yeah, whoops." Of course he had to know he had nothing to worry about, considering what he'd walked in on here. But somehow Flynn doubted he'd have been worried anyway. "But I uh, guess that's not quite what you were askin' about."

"No, not really." He shook his head. "The whole premise of this thing is that we were too good at our jobs for the brass to get rid of us. Maybe thinking we can do better isn't that crazy."

"About the only not-crazy thing we do around here, but you might be right. This why you snuck out of poker?"

…He'd caught that, too? "Well I wasn't about to _ask_ Kogane if he'd approve this."

"Heh, yeah, point." There was very long and very uncomfortable minute of silence, and finally Hunk's unease became too much. "So how did _you_ end up on this crazy train, if ya don't mind me askin'?" He glanced at the crystal in a way that made it clear he had suspicions.

He wasn't wrong, exactly.

Flynn followed his gaze and laughed softly. "Something like that. I had the engine group on a cargo hauler, running a cargo circuit in the Sibereal sector. Blew an engine. Captain wanted it fixed _immediately_ , wouldn't listen to me telling him we had to let it cool down before we could do anything. He threatened to write me up for not sending my people in to melt, so I _might_ have gone ahead with a wholly unnecessary desperation procedure that blew up the whole engine, just to make a point." Shrug. "He wasn't amused, so he wrote the entire engine group up for dereliction and hazarding."

Wince. "Harsh, bro. At least they cleared you for it, yeah? I mean, I'm guessin' they did since you're here."

"Oh I'm not here because of _that_. I'm here because I went to the bridge and told him to go fuck himself. Which, as I'm sure you know, isn't the appropriate manner for contesting a report." He frowned slightly. "Apparently this means I have problems with authority."

"You? Nah, pit boss. No way." He looked at the crystal again, chuckling. "I'll leave ya to it, then. We, uh… we just keep this chat between us, yeah?"

Flynn paused. He'd expected to be the one who had to say that. But then again… Hunk had his own secrets he was keeping, and not only the ones with a gag order. "Of course."

Flipping a casual salute, Hunk turned and left the bay.

*****

It had been impossible to gauge time while hiding in the forest, never mind location. Larmina had apparently gotten much deeper in than she'd thought. Most of the area she'd been familiar with was gone, and that left her with no landmarks either.

What she did have were banewolves. The two who'd dug her out of the debris were gone, but she kept seeing others follow her, flickers of gray fur and golden eyes glinting in the underbrush. A few times, they'd snarled at her, guiding her away from some paths and encouraging others. She certainly wasn't going to argue with them. And soon enough, she reached another edge of the forest… another enormous expanse of charred, dead earth. What looked like scraps of fighters were visible—an engine here, a wing there.

And in the distance, the shadow of the Castle of Lions was just barely visible in the faint morning sunlight.

"Oh…" Larmina swallowed, looking back into the trees. "Thank you," she whispered to the invisible presence of the banewolves. Were they the mystery she was supposed to find here? Surely not, there had to be better ways…

A soft growl echoed behind her. That same deep, echoing sound that had seemed to haunt this forest. It didn't sound like the banewolves at all… but what else could it be?

Maybe she didn't want to know that.

She ran for the castle, her legs shaky, veering away from smoldering trunks and patches of glowing cinders. The closer she got to the castle, the more _wrong_ it looked. The silhouette was off.

_Don't stop. Don't get caught in the open. You can worry about it when you get there._ But it was much too late to not be worried. Stepping from the scorched remains of the forest onto the singed grass, she could start to make out exactly what was wrong.

"Dovayat…"

She'd known it all along, really. Somewhere deep beneath the immediate fight for survival, she'd known the castle couldn't have made it through intact. She'd known the invaders, whoever they were, hadn't come here just to burn down some trees. Seeing the gaping holes in the structure still hit her with a wave of terrified nausea, and she turned away to vomit up what little she'd eaten lately.

_Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't this what you prayed for? There sure isn't gonna be a ball now._

That thought kept her dry heaving for at least another minute.

_What about the Seven Isles?_

_That_ thought got her moving. Fighting the new panic gripping her she moved forward. All she could do now was find who was left—if anyone was left, no, someone _had_ to be—and find out what had happened, what they could do about it. If this had been everywhere or… _stop that!_

Reaching the moat, she stopped and took a long breath. The drawbridge had been down, at least. It was a charred wreck now, but there was enough left to cross if she was careful. And to be careful she would have to focus on it, not the many other thoughts swirling in her mind.

Was the castle even stable? It didn't invite much confidence, but it was still large and stone and didn't seem to be actively crumbling. She carefully picked her way over the broken drawbridge, approaching the door while watching the sky.

Something squeaked at her feet.

Her first reaction was to jump for solid ground—squeaking from the unstable drawbridge couldn't be good, surely. After a graceless fall she turned to have a look and saw…

"Oh… Cheddar, right? Don't scare me like that!" After the banewolves, talking to a space mouse didn't seem all that strange; she didn't even stop to wonder if it could answer. "Is it safe in there?"

The mouse squeaked and chittered, running in circles, shaking its head vigorously, and pawing for her to follow. Though it followed that up by running up the stairs and through a hole in the door.  _Mixed signals much?_   Still, not much to do but follow… the hole was just big enough for her to squeeze through, and spilled just enough light into the dark, dust-choked entry hall for her to see Cheddar running off to the left. That brought them to a cloakroom, seemingly intact, though completely empty.

Before Larmina could even ask what they were doing here, Cheddar scurried up the wall and jumped on one of the coat hooks. It dropped with a soft _click_. The mouse bounced from hook to hook, triggering a pattern of four more, and several stones in the floor shifted and fell away.

_Oh…_ now that she hadn't seen coming at _all_. "That, um… that works!" Hesitantly she stepped into the shadows, a wide staircase that seemed to go on forever. None of her explorations had even hinted at this. She heard the squeaks of what sounded like several mice scurrying ahead, long gone by the time she finally reached the bottom.

A sliver of light appeared in front of her. "Larmina?"

The voice washed over her, a physical wave of relief. "Auntie…"

"Larmina!" The light clattered to the ground, and a second later Allura had tackled her in a hug that threatened to take her to the floor along with it.

There were so many things she wanted, _needed_ to ask, and she couldn't ask any of them. Her voice suddenly wouldn't work. So she just sank into the embrace, shivering, trying to let the relief override it all. A few moments of peace—not something she'd ever had much of, really.

Now more than ever, that wasn't likely to change any time soon.


	17. Bearing Signs

Gravity interfered with extraplanar breaches. That was well known. Exactly _how_ it interfered with them was less well known—like many aspects of hyperspace, its effects were highly unpredictable. The Alliance had long ago decided it was safer to just implement a policy against opening breaches inside of astrospheres. As a bonus, that sharply decreased the chance of breaching in on top of something: planar scanners could detect the energy signatures of stars or planets, or even ships, before trying to re-enter real space. Not so much asteroids and space debris.

The planar scanners were enough to prevent collisions in low-traffic systems. Those with higher populations preferred a more structured method. In the case of the Sol system, two entry bands had been designated a bit beyond the Kuiper Belt. The inner band still operated on planar scanning, but the outer band was reserved for expected traffic—usually Alliance military or cargo ships—which would be assigned a specific entry point. It simplified things.

Entry Point 194°27'52.7" was silent. Waiting. Finally the darkness shimmered slightly. A spark of faintly bluish light blossomed, unleashing a shockwave of extraplanar energy that briefly pushed aside dust and plasma. A second flash of light, this one more reddish, filled the void almost instantly, coalescing into a solid form. A sleek metal shape with swept wings, four engines burning in the darkness as the light of the breach faded away.

The _Firecrown_ had returned.

They were two days from home.

*****

Something resembling a truce had been established in the galley; they were too close to home to argue over it. The rest of the crew could do the arguing. Centuries-old shipboard tradition called for stew on the final inbound push, a legacy from when normal cooking in space had first been puzzled out. Most extended missions had just ended up throwing all their leftovers together by the end of the trip.

Neither of the team's self-appointed cooks were actually spacers by training, but tradition was tradition.

Hunk was making a bacon-beef stew, obviously. One did not simply let _bacon_ go to waste. Every so often he glanced at Jace's dish, which he was guessing to be feijoada, based on what the medic had been prepping. Which, truthfully, he would not have expected. "Not bad, Doc." Grin. "Figured the health food nut would be makin' a glorified salad."

Jace turned to him, arching an eyebrow, then shooting a very judgmental look at his three packages of bacon. "You know, there's some daylight between being a _health food nut_ and not wanting to eat twice your daily caloric intake with every meal."

Huh. "Yeah fair point, I guess."

"You guess." Jace rolled his eyes and turned to the broth he had simmering, took a small test sip… and nearly choked as fire erupted in his mouth and down his throat. Whirling away he coughed and gasped for breath. "What—the fuck—happened to—"

A flash of gold caught his eye. Sitting by the pot, right off to the side where he couldn't have seen it before, was a bottle of murder pepper sauce.

"…You fucking bastard."

Hunk smiled sweetly. "At least it wasn't sand, yeah?"

"You fucking dumbass magnificent bastard."

"And it ain't even that many calories!"

That did it; Jace somehow dissolved into laughter while still choking on hot sauce. "I hate you, caralho."

Grin. "I know."

"Here! Have it!" He pushed the murder pepper broth at Hunk, then retreated to the refrigeration unit and gulped down about half a gallon of milk. He was still laughing. And coughing. "I'm gonna go get an antidote. Fuck. I will _remember this."_

Hunk couldn't suppress the smirk as Jace fled the galley. "Not like I'd want ya to forget." Shrugging, he tested the broth—it wasn't half bad—and dumped it into one of the two pots he had cooking. Not everyone _could_ handle that heat, after all.

There'd been a lot of heat on this trip, and there was probably going to be a lot more on Earth. Very little of it would have anything to do with murder pepper sauce. On the upside, not much of it would be directed at _him_ , either. He didn't like that kind of heat.

Being Big Dumb Hunk was easy. Being anyone else…

_Drop the act, Garrett._

How many times had he heard _that_ repeating in his head since it happened? He'd lost count somewhere around 112, and he'd been avoiding the bay as much as possible when he wasn't on shift. Much better to hang around the galley and get called a dumbass every thirty seconds. That he knew how to cope with.

Getting back to Earth would be nice. He could lock himself in a garage with a lot of metal—both types—and recharge without having to worry about anyone pushing him. And after that, well…

Who knew?

It would probably be crazy. No problem. Big Dumb Hunk was good with crazy.

*****

They were on their way home.  Lance stared ahead at the viewscreen and felt a restless tug inside. He didn’t want to go home. Sighing, he leaned back in his seat, feeling bored. He wanted to distract himself. There was one handy distraction nearby.

“So, Viking, we ever gonna get you to play on poker night?”

Sven glanced up. “Possibly.”

Lance smirked. “Playing it mysterious huh? I like it, a Viking mystery…” He was impressed to have gotten even that much, really. “It was fun last time, right? Even if I only had the one good hand.”

“It was definitely fun to watch,”  Sven admitted, happy to be talking rather than just staring ahead at the screens.

“Wish we weren’t Earth-bound." Lance sighed. "Could do with more adventure."

Sven matched the sigh. “I agree… I could do without being Earth-bound for a long time yet. Speaking of, we’re only a few hours out.”

_That soon?_ That was disappointing, but he brushed it aside in favor of the more interesting fact. “Yeah? Thought you weren’t too sure about being on Explorer Team? Change your mind?”

Sven quirked his eyebrow, had he really given him that impression? “No. I always loved this assignment, it got me off Earth.” _And away from my parents._

Frowning, Lance thought back to their past conversations and shook himself. He _had_ mentioned wanting to get off Earth before, hadn't he? “Maybe I got you confused with Jace.” The way the navigator's face contorted at that suggestion forced him to stop a moment to bite back uproarious laughter. “This is my best assignment yet,” he continued as he regained his composure. “Thought they’d never put me on a Explorer Team.”

“What other assignments have you had?” The last time this topic had come up, Sven had been so busy being excited to find someone else happy to be here that he'd forgotten to ask for more details. He really didn’t know much about their hotshot pilot other than what he advertised, that he liked beer and flying. Oh, and he liked to flirt. Even he’d noticed that, and usually that kind of thing went right over his head.

Shrug. “Usual pilot stuff, near Drule space mostly. A lot of recon work. It was fine and all, but dull, too many rules and regulations. Finally broke them one time too many I guess.”

Sven eyed him. “What was the one time too many?”

He'd walked right into it; Lance smirked. “Oh, that’s a _great_ story.”

“Well, then you should tell me.”

Oh, _gladly_. “So, we're doing recon, basically the assignment was to get close to some moon base the Drules were building in No Man's Land, get imaging and scans for intel…”  He paused to laugh. “Intel, ha ha, right? They suck.”

Sven nodded.

“So, brilliant intel, as usual, says the patrols will be gone for x amount of time, don’t remember what it was, it was wrong so why would I?  We go in and are instantly caught by a group of fighters on patrol. We end up in a dogfight, but I’ve got my eye on the ball. We’re right by the moon they want the photographs taken of…" His words were coming faster, his eyes shining with the memory of being fully in his element. "I'm _right there_ , I’m about to take out this one dude that’s on me and go take the pictures. Easy peasy.”

“But?” There was definitely a _but_ coming here.

“You’re smart. _But_ my commander is ordering a retreat, it's too hot, we’re taking on too many hits— _I_ wasn’t hit. I had it, right? So I tell him, no I got this. He's screaming at me to not dare disobey his order, I'll get killed. So, I turned the radio off, got the Drule on my ass off of my ass. Swooped down close to the base, took the pictures, got the intel and returned." Snort. "Did I get a party when I got back? NOPE.”

Sven nodded, unsurprised by that at least. “Of course not.”  

“Anyway... they never told me, but I think whatever it was I took photos of was pretty great intel, classified-level-great, because they took me out of the brig without charging me. Commander Adams, when he tossed me into it, he was screaming dishonorable discharge. Telling me I was a disgrace to the Alliance and the Vanguard. But they pulled me out, put me on drop duty, said I’d be reassigned. And hell, it got me here and I’m happy as a fucking clam.”

Were clams really all that happy? Who had ever decided to look into the moods of clams, anyway?

“That is a very _you_ story," Sven laughed.

“It was awesome, Viking, I’m telling you." His eyes flashed. "I’m never gonna retreat if I get the job done _, never_. Just hell no. …And I take it being a ‘me story’ as a compliment.”

“You _should_ take it as a compliment.”

Winking, Lance rolled with it. “I think they should put it in a textbook. Explorer Team 101, call it the Lance Maneuver.”

It briefly occurred to Sven that there must have been an actual Explorer Team 101 once. That must have been entertaining. “There seem to be an infinite number of ways to get onto an Explorer Team. Though yours is one of the more _exciting_ ones I’ve heard.”

“I’m an exciting guy, Viking.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I always figured I was either gonna get kicked out of the Garrison, or end up here here. I prefer here. Keeps me flying, keeps things crazy. Even if it still has boring bridge duty through hyperspace." A wicked smirk spread over his face. "And then there's _you_. Don't worry though, Viking, we’ll make an exciting guy out of you yet.”

“Yes, yes I know. I need to be corrupted.” Sven rolled his eyes.

“And you will be, that’s a promised threat."

A promised threat? Oh, boy…

But he probably wasn't wrong.

*****

The team that had returned to Earth was not the same team that had left it. Hawkins could tell that immediately. He'd seen it in so many before them—the initial wary edge giving way to an easy, relaxed manner. It was how the Explorer Teams were meant to work.

He missed it sometimes… there wasn't much camaraderie behind a desk.

The battered _Firecrown_ was back in Auxiliary Hangar Four, and that was where he'd come to greet them. It was always his preference to meet his people in their own habitat, so to speak. To get a sense of where they'd been and what they'd done, in a way the dry mission reports couldn't get across. So here he was, standing in a conference room that had once been the crew quarters, a plaque on the wall lamenting a dearly departed hydraulic line.

_Definitely an Explorer Team._

"Welcome back, gentlemen." He looked over each of them warmly, but the looks he got in return were a mix of cool and concerned. He could at least begin to guess at the bad news they were bearing. There had been a report from the Rim… "Word of the siege at Echo Fox Waystation has preceded you."

"Oh is that all?" Gregory muttered. Holgersson elbowed him.

Kogane shot the medic a stern look, but he was shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the colonel. "That was only the last of our… adventures, sir."

"And the second pirate band _with a carrier_ we ran into," Kleid added.

"The _second?"_ Hawkins repeated, blinking. The report of one—sieging an Alliance waystation, no less—had caused enough of a stir among the brass. Two? They might have a serious problem on their hands. "Intel is already not going to like this."

"Sucks to be them," McClain said derisively. Running into two pirate carriers could probably do that; though Kogane frowned at him too, Hawkins didn't see much point in chastising him.

"Your team can speak freely, Commander. I didn't come here for the sanitized version, that's what your formal report is for."

"Understood, sir." The commander actually did seem to relax slightly. "We aren't especially fond of intel at the moment."

"Understandable. What else was there?"

Garrett chuckled. "Bird ruins and Galra and cat temples, oh my!"

… _What?_  "You encountered the Galra too?"

"On Kithran." Kogane nodded. "Along with a petrified giant monster with a huge hole in its side. We fully documented everything."

A very unusual feeling was coming over Hawkins: he was actually eager to read a full report. "I have no doubt you did. Anything else you'd like to throw at me for starters?"

McClain and Garrett exchanged looks. "We can't ever go back to Sorthal."

"Like, ever."

"Not that we'd want to."

"Not a bit."

The others were all wincing a little. On one hand, reasonable. On the other… "That's really the least worrisome thing you've said so far." He shook his head. "Did you find anything else of mission importance?"

"Plenty." Kogane looked around at the others. "If it's all the same to you, it might be easiest to do the full debriefing in the cargo bay so we can walk you through what we found. The report doesn't do some of it justice."

He had no doubt of _that_ , either. "Lead on, Commander." Following the team down the main corridor, he considered what he'd just been told and tried to absorb it all. To brace for details he suddenly wondered if he was truly prepared for.

_This ought to be one hell of a debriefing._

*****

"There have been several collapses on the upper levels. We've issued orders for all civilians to stay in place. What engineers we have available are checking the stability of the lower shelters, but we believe them to be secure—they were always the stronger construction."

"Good. Keep me informed. And the surface?"

"The bombardments have stopped, but the enemy has deployed infantry. Falastol is occupied. Our last report was that they're going door to door in search of King Alfor; he wasn't found at the castle. That's the most recent word we have. Our last two runners never returned, and we don't dare send more."

"Very well. We'll do the best we can with what we have here…"

Tanner was listening to the whispered conversation between the guards, trying to make sense of it all. Some he was very clear on. His father was missing, and the invaders were searching for him.

_They won't find him. Dad's too smart and too tough for them_.

Captain Sherion, the leader of the prince's own bodyguard detachment, seemed to have taken some control of the shelter they were in. He outranked all of the Golden Knights who'd arrived. Tanner could tell the Captain didn't want him to know how bad things were, but he wanted to know— _needed_ to know. So far there was no mention of his sister, no sign of Nanny… nothing but soldiers and shivering civilians.

He'd wanted to try to talk to the civilians and cheer them up, but Sherion had impressed on him the importance of staying quiet. He was too young to have made many public appearances; most people on Arus didn't recognize their own prince. Right now it was to their benefit to keep it like that.

Tanner didn't like it…

Of course he couldn't have told them what he really wanted to, anyway. The secrets the royal family kept. The secrets he'd seen.

_It'll be okay. The Lions will save us._

*****

Romelle, Princess of the House of Lachesis, paused in the hallway outside her father’s study. He’d summoned her abruptly, and she couldn’t help the nerves that came along with it. Especially since the news of the attack on Arus, which had run rampant through the castle just hours before. Pollux had kept a close watch on its misguided neighbor for centuries, awaiting a reckoning that had seemed inevitable. A reckoning that was supposed to come at the hands of history, not alien conquerors.

Nobody had seen the Drule attack coming…

The summons simply _couldn't_ be unrelated. She looked down at her dress, straightened a wrinkle out of it and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Enter!”

Romelle swallowed hard at the angry tone of her father’s voice, but opened the door and walked into the room, closing the door behind her.  “You sent for me, Father?” she asked, once she stopped on the other side of his desk from him.

King Kova looked up at his daughter and stood, walking around to her. “Romelle, you have a duty to perform and you must not fail me.”

Romelle nodded. “You know I will do anything you ask, Father.”

“Good. You’re going to Korrinoth, to build an alliance with the Drules through marriage.”

"…What?" Romelle took a step back, eyes wide with shock. When she'd agreed to do anything he asked, she had expected certain other agreements to still hold sway. “Father, you swore you would never do such a thing to your children!”

“I don’t have a choice, Romelle.  Either I break that oath to you, or we could end up suffering the same fate as Arus. My duty—our duty—to protect our planet comes first.” Kova's expression was grim. “You _will_ do this for me.”

Romelle shook her head, torn between betrayal and denial. “I… I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“We don’t have a choice. Now, you must go and pack your things.”

She looked at him, straightening and setting her jaw. It was beneath a princess of Pollux to be used as a pawn. _He_ had taught her that. “I don’t want to.”

Kova was silent for a moment. She thought she saw the faintest hint of approval, even pride, on his stern face…

Then he slapped her, knocking her to the ground with a gasp. “I told you to do something and you will do it! This isn't about mere politics, this is the survival of our planet!”

Romelle cupped her cheek, stunned, tears in her eyes. The physical sting was nothing compared to what it represented. No more arguments were going to come out, not now. She rolled to her knees and fled from his study, sobbing.

Kova watched her go, clenching his fists in frustration. He’d never wanted this for any of his children, but once he made up his mind it was never a good idea to tell him no, and his daughter had to learn that the hard way. Pollux had to be protected. There were no other options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A quick note on naming: DotU gave Haggar's cat and Pollux's king very similar names and people have been debating the issue ever since. Naturally, the Voltron Force epilogue comic confirmed the cat as Coba while Legendary Defender confirmed Kova. In our continuity, Kova makes more aesthetic sense for Pollux's king given that he named his oldest son Avok, so that's what we're going with.


	18. Epilogue (In the Wings)

The Galaxy Alliance went all out for its graduation ceremonies, and this year's was no different. The stage the graduates had to walk across was high off the ground, surrounded by flags and banners. The ceiling was high, unendingly high, and decorations representing the various service branches were everywhere. _Everywhere._

Daniel Brennan stood slightly apart from his classmates, studying the layout and snorting. It was all so unnecessary. What was the point of having a stage that high, anyways? Wait, no, there was a better question. What was the point of him doing this? He could have just had the damn piece of paper mailed to him, and he wouldn’t have to go through all this bullshit.

Looking at the stage again, Daniel focused on the podium in the dead center, where the Academy's Headmaster General would stand and hand the brand new graduates their certifications. Out past the stage there were a couple hundred chairs for them to sit in after they receive that stupid square of paper. Out past those chairs were a few thousand more, filled with friends and family, all excited to see their loved ones walk across the freakishly high stage.

Rolling his eyes Daniel turned away from the curtain he was looking out, hiding him and his classmates from view. Pulling at his new dress uniform, pinching the gown that was covering it in the process, he jostled his hat and scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground… he stared at it accusingly. Why was he doing this? Not like anyone out there was waiting for _him_ to walk. This was so stupi—

“Brennan!”

_Oh yeah. That’s why._

Daniel’s musings were cut off by a short, muscular man with an annoyed look on his face. “What are you doing out of line?” Commodore Mark Rankin was not a large man, but he still had quite the imposing presence. When he talked, people listened. Even Daniel… most of the time.

They had become very acquainted with each other over the past two years. Daniel guessed that he respected the man, sort of. Or maybe saying he didn’t hate the guy was a better way to describe it. The Commodore had always been stern with him, but he had never treated him with any malice, or spoken to him like a child, the way _most_ of his instructors had. Which was actually the reason he was here. He knew how much it irked those assholes that he was graduating. It was like he was getting the last laugh.

So he had caused a little trouble. Had a little fun. That was no reason hate him, was it?

The Commodore was still scowling at him, and he smirked. “Surveying my surroundings. Just like I was taught…” After pausing for a moment he decided to go ahead and add, “sir.”

“Hilarious, Brennan. Maybe you should have been a comedian instead of a Galaxy Alliance cadet?” Rankin shot back at him with a stern expression and raised brow.

“I am pretty funny. Comedy genius actually, but I like my current career path."

“There’s still time to change your mind.”

“Like I said, I’m happy with my current career choice.” The mirth in Daniel's voice gave way to a tinge of bitterness.

“We’re letting you graduate, don’t cause any problems,” the Commodore warned. “Get back in line.”

“No promises.” Daniel winked, moving back to his spot. Rankin waited until he had successfully completed the order before walking off.

_There it was again._ His eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets. _We’re_ letting _you graduate_. It had been made very clear to him that the only reason he was graduating was that he was too good a pilot and gunner not to. Which was fine with him. He _was_ good at what he did, better than most of the idiots in his class. Everyone acted like letting him get this stupid piece of paper was such a gift. Like he should be unendingly grateful or something. Well, Rankin hadn’t acted like that quite as much, but all of his stupid teachers had. Especially the astrophysics instructor, Corporal Fuchs. _That_ guy was a grade A asshole, and it wasn't even warranted.

Daniel _couldn’t_ have been the first person to make the correlation between his name and a certain curse word.

“At attention, graduates!” His head snapped up as Rankin’s voice rang out. “Walk across the stage when your name is called, salute the Headmaster, and then accept your certification. It’s not that hard, don’t screw it up.” Daniel couldn’t help but think that was directed at him. “…And congratulations.” He would have liked to think that was aimed at him too. With that, Rankin walked out on stage to join the Headmaster, leaving them to their own thoughts. Daniel's were not too unusual for his Academy career, really.

_Let’s just get this over with._

*****

Freshly minted Ensign Cameron Starr dropped into the chair at his desk in his quarters. He grinned and excitedly picked up his data pad, bringing up the file that had just come in; his excitement made his fingers tremble slightly as he stared at it. This was it. It was finally time…

He closed his eyes, taking a few slow breaths. “Okay, Cam, calm down," he whispered to himself. "This is the moment you have worked so hard for." He looked over the list of commands he was being offered and gave a low whistle; some were really nice. One was even to Sky Marshal Wade’s own command—one of the Solar Vanguard's carriers, a mission nearly anyone would have jumped at. _Nearly_ anyone. He knew how that had gotten there, and he wasn't touching it.

“No way in hell, Jenna. After how you treated me? After what you did to _him?_ No way." A slow grin spread over his face. "Let’s see if I can find him and request his command.”

Searching for assignment information wasn't technically prohibited, but the Alliance's systems didn't exactly make it _easy_. But training as a communications officer taught one plenty about working through the convoluted systems. A few minutes of work… and he found himself staring at his datapad in shock.

"How in the hell?" He set the datapad down and ran a hand through his dirty blond hair, blue eyes staring through the desk as he tried to take the information in. “He… he can’t have… how the hell is he commanding an Explorer Team?”

A memory hit him hard. A special ceremony for the top percent of the class, Admiral Tiberius personally pinning on his ensign bars and shaking his hand.

“ _You’re going places, young man. With your scores you could have orders to just about any command you want. Now, think carefully about where you want to be. I want you to consider all the good things that you can do and choose the best one. Congratulations, Ensign Starr. Hope to see you around the fleet soon.”_

He sat there for a long time, mulling over the Admiral's words. And others. Words about role models, about the importance of duty, about all the ideals of the Alliance. The glowing praise of Captain Arleone introducing an old favorite student to her class, and the wisdom that old student had offered them. Finally he scoffed.

“If it's good enough for him… it's good enough for me.”

Glaring at his datapad as if it were personally responsible for this predicament, he picked it back up and entered his information and his request. For a moment he just stared silently, steeling himself. Was this really the best course? Maybe, maybe not. But it was the course he was going to follow.

He hit the send button.

“No turning back now,” he whispered, dropping the datapad back onto his desk. He'd rushed back after the ceremony to get his assignment offers, passing up the offer to go drink with his classmates first. All that excitement, now here he was. "Guess I should go join in on that drink after all." He stood and pulled on his coat. "I'm gonna need it."

As he left the room, a soft beep from his datapad confirmed his request had been received. For a minute or so the screen illuminated his desk, the words displayed in ghostly light.

_I hereby request assignment under Commander Keith Kogane, Explorer Team 686. Respectfully, Ensign Cameron Iosif Starr._

*****

Vince Hayes was distracted as he typed code onto the computer in front of his face. The coding was supposed to _be_ the distraction. He was laying on his stomach to try to keep the knots out of it, trying to lose himself in the work so he wouldn’t think about the fact his ruling hadn’t arrived.

Somehow, shortly before graduation, he’d fried the hard drives of the Academy library computers when he’d meant to be fixing them. One minute he’d been stressing out about his last exam and the next the whole row was on fire. What had happened? He didn't know, he never did, he could have rewired any one of them in his sleep but couldn't explain how he'd caused them to spontaneously combust… he groaned and tried to focus on the present. But his eyesight was blurring with anxiety and before he knew it the computer in front of him started to fritz.

“No, no…” he shouted at it, as if _that_ would solve the problem, and pushed it away from him in an attempt to stop the inevitable. Sparks erupted.

Veronica Reyes, his best friend, almost instantly appeared from behind him. “Vincent Hayes, did you just fry my computer?”  

“I can fix it,” he muttered. Lord knew he knew how by now, especially after the week it had taken him to rebuild the library’s computers. At least it was a learning experience. That was what his moms had told him, but he’d heard the disappointment in their voices. The memory of it made him wince again.

“You’re distracted, why did I even let you use it… well I mean, _that’s_ why...”  Veronica shook her head and then shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Vince groaned. “It’s not…”

“You’ll get your ruling soon, you know.”

He frowned and ignored her, picking up the computer to see if he’d fried it or if it’d just gotten mad at him. He was positive electronics acted more like people than things around him, not that he'd ever tell anyone that. He had enough problems.

“You _will_ ,” she repeated when he remained silent.

“I suppose." He shrugged. His thoughts were on the fact that all of his classmates, Veronica included, were receiving their assignment offers already. But here he was. No offers. And no ruling on what would no doubt decide his fate in the Alliance.

Just then there was a knock on his door.  

Veronica's eyes widened. “Oh my God, we talked it into existence.”

“Yeah, right,” he muttered as he went to answer it. “It’s probably just cookies from Granny Mel.”

“I love her cookies.”

Vince nodded in agreement. Actually cookies sounded wonderful right now, though he wondered if he'd be able to enjoy them. But when he opened the door, the courier was holding what was obviously an official Garrison package and not a package of cookies. “Specialist Vincent Hayes?”

He nodded and signed where he was told, not able to speak. He stared at the envelope, shaking with anxiety. It’d taken so long to arrive. Turning, he held it out in the air until Veronica realized he wanted her to take it.

Well, okay. Rolling her eyes, she took it and ripped it open, glancing over it… and her eyes bugged out.

“What?” Vince asked, terrified. That reaction was _not_ a good sign.

“You won’t believe this,” she said quietly, and handed it to him.

He'd kind of hoped she would take enough pity on him to read it out loud, but he _had_ just fried her computer, so fair enough. He skimmed the beginning of the document, he already knew the case summary. “The disciplinary board has cleared you for this incident," he read in a monotone, dread filling him as the message continued. "However, given your history of similar incidents it has been decided you will be assigned to an Explorer Team as soon as a spot is available."

Veronica looked at him. He looked back at her. And finally, silently, he dropped the paper and went back to her computer. What was he even supposed to say?

*****

Sergeant Mariska Faraday was new to the Security Division, and she'd completed her qualifications for probation oversight less than a week ago. Now here she was, already questioning her judgment, at the Delta Fortress to spring some outlaw technician. Apparently he'd triggered the three strikes rule by stabbing a crewmate in a bar fight, but the Alliance had seen fit to give him one last chance.

They couldn't have eased her into the job, _clearly_.

A guard led her through the harshly lit hallways, making small talk until they reached the maximum security wing. "Your man's in here. Don't know why, to be perfectly honest; one stab doesn't usually get you in max, and if it does you aren't leaving."

Oh, that made her feel so much better. "Has he caused problems?"

"He's a right little prick, but otherwise no." Shrug. "Eh, the brass can do crazy things if they want. Here you go." He stopped at a cell and pressed a hand to the locking mechanism; the door opened and the security field flickered to life.

The room was pitch black. Faraday frowned; even the worst inmates were allowed _light_. She couldn't see anything, which put her immediately on edge…

A glint of green light seemed to spring to life in the cell, then a second, and she found herself staring into a pair of bright green eyes that nearly glowed. Or maybe just reflected, like a cat's. It was unnerving as hell either way, and she could've easily done without it.

"Get up, Stoker. You're out of here."

Faraday was able to make out a vague outline by now, and could see him lower his head and put on a pair of glasses that thankfully dimmed his eyes a bit. He rose more fluidly than she'd ever seen from anyone in cuffs and approached the door.

_Wait. What the hell?_

From what she'd heard of Stoker's exploits, she'd expected some grizzled old spacer on the wrong side of decades of alcohol. What she had in front of her was a young man who couldn't possibly even be old enough to drink. Something about his features was just a bit inhuman, never mind those eyes, but…

_Who or what is this… kid?_

Whatever he was, he bowed his head calmly. "I'm ready." His voice was low and held a slight rasp that made her doubt he used it often. Or maybe he'd just been in here awhile.

"Here's the key to his restraints." The guard passed her a keychip and looked back at the young man with a scowl. "Try to stay out of trouble, Stoker. We don't want you back here."

"Yessir."

He took that better than she'd expected, too. "Go ahead and let him out, Corporal. I'll be able to handle him."

Stoker gave her a doubtful look. How exactly she was meant to interpret it, she didn't know or care. He was cuffed and unarmed and, frankly, tiny. What was there to worry about?

The first answer to that came as they exited the prison, and suddenly he wasn't in cuffs anymore. Faraday had no idea how it had happened, even though she'd _seen_ it. She'd looked down to make sure he was following her, and with an odd flick of his wrist he was free of his restraints.

"What did you just do?" she demanded, drawing back and putting a hand on her sidearm. Not quite the way she'd have approached it if she hadn't been blindsided, but it would do.

He blinked, looking at the pair of cuffs in his hands. "Was I supposed to keep them on?"

_How_ … "I'd prefer you did, for the time being," she managed through gritted teeth.

"Oh." With a somewhat confused look he slipped his hands back into the cuffs just as easily as he'd first gotten them out. "Is that better, ma'am?"

The question seemed entirely sincere, which only made Faraday want to smack him. She was going to be stuck dealing with this kid for awhile, and now it was looking like it would be a very _long_ while. "Yes." Flustered as she was, she forced herself to fight down all the screaming questions that had raised and focus on regaining control. "My name is Sergeant Faraday. I'll be your probation officer until the brass decides what to do with you."

Nod. "Okay."

And again that didn't seem quite like the correct answer, but whatever. "I know who you are, but if you'd like to introduce yourself on your terms this would be the time."

"Why would…" He trailed off, shrugged, and nodded. "Yes ma'am. Everyone calls me Pidge."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part 2 of Pride will start going up in a couple of weeks. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
